The Press Gang Theory
by EKWTSM9
Summary: A baffling case, with echoes from the past, pits Mike and Steve against a formidable, and deadly, new opponent.
1. Chapter 1

**The Press Gang Theory – Chapter One**

The sun was just beginning to slightly brighten the thick layer of dull gray clouds that hung over The City like a heavy wet blanket. The streetlamp glow reflecting off the puddles and glistening asphalt offered the only luster in the gloom as the large tan LTD turned off the Embarcadero into the parking lot near Pier 41. Two black-and-whites and a coroner's wagon were already there.

The doors to the sedan opened slowly. Both Detective Lieutenant Mike Stone and his partner, Inspector Steve Keller, turned up the collars of their overcoats as they emerged into the thick, cold mist that helped to mask the on-going construction that was turning the historic old fishing wharf into a tourist attraction.

Silently, as if in weary anticipation of what they were about to confront, they followed the sidewalk around Castagnola's and walked out onto the wooden pier. The entire fleet, small as it was now, was back in but no one was off-loading their catch; it seemed as if the entire fishing community was standing at the end of the pier.

"Okay, fellas," Mike said loudly as they approached the assembled throng, "everybody's gotta move back now!"

Several heads turned slowly, without expression, and enough of the grizzled captains and their younger charges stepped aside so the cops could make their way to the short wooden ladder and down onto the blue-and-white boat below. As Mike hopped off the ladder onto the _Miss B_ , Sergeant Rod Caplan nodded a greeting. "Mike, this is Stan Joslyn, he's captain of the _Miss B_."

Wiping the grit from the wooden ladder off his hands, Mike smiled grimly then held his right hand out for the short grey-haired fisherman to shake. "Captain, I'm Lieutenant Stone, and this is Inspector Keller."

Steve had joined them on the prow of the small boat and he nodded his acknowledgement.

"Rod," Mike continued, looking at the uniformed sergeant, "what have you got for us?"

Caplan cocked his head and grimaced slightly. "I think you fellas should see for yourself." He turned and started towards the back of the boat. Mike glanced at his partner before they followed, both of them frowning in curiosity.

They followed Caplan around the wheelhouse. Two more uniformed officers and a thin, bespectacled young man in a black trench coat were standing over the open cargo hatch door.

As the group approached the others, Caplan glanced over his shoulder. "Captain, you want to tell the Lieutenant here what happened."

Joslyn stopped a couple of steps behind Mike, who had walked to the edge of the cargo hatch and looked down; he could see nothing in the murky depths, but the smell of fresh fish got a lot stronger. "Well, ah," the captain began, and both detectives faced him, eyebrows raised.

He glanced nervously from one to the other and then down at the deck, rubbing his hands together almost nervously.

He cleared his throat and started again. "We, ah, we was out just past the Bridge… you know we don't catch near as much as we used to…" he sighed sadly and Mike nodded in commiseration, "and it was getting hard to see so we decided to stick close to home for tonight. Anyways, we were about a mile offa Land's End when we pulled the net in and we just dumped it and headed home here."

He cleared his throat again and glanced at Mike before his hooded soft blue eyes drifted back towards the cargo hatch. "So's anyway, ah, Ricky - my boy here," he nodded towards a skinny dark-haired and dark-eyed young man standing nearby, who looked quickly at the tall detective and swallowed nervously before his eyes snapped back to the cargo hold as well. "Ricky and me, we, ah, well, we opened the hatch here and he, ah…. well, he jumped down into the hold to start tossing the keepers up to me when, ah, well…" Joslyn cleared his throat once more and closed his eyes.

"I screamed, sir," Ricky said quietly, keeping his eyes on the inky depths of the hold. "I couldn't help myself."

Mike glanced at Steve, who shrugged slightly, and they both stepped closer to the hold as the two patrolmen stepped back. The young man in the glasses and trenchcoat looked at Mike and smiled wanly with a slight nod. "Lieutenant…"

Mike nodded back. "Albert. So, what have you got for us?"

The coroner's assistant raised the large flashlight in his right hand and snapped it on. The bright beam illuminated the writhing pile of fish struggling to stay alive in the large waterless space. Both detectives frowned, trying to figure out what they were supposed to see. Then Steve caught his breath and flinched involuntarily; a split second later, Mike did the same.

Covered with grime and glistening with moisture in the stark beam from the powerful flashlight, a human hand protruded from the flailing mass.

Mike exhaled loudly, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. He glanced at the captain, who had reluctantly joined him at the edge of the hold; Ricky had turned away and was staring at the deck. "I see," the older detective said to no one in particular, then looked at Joslyn. "So you had no idea you had this in your net?"

Continuing to stare at the object in the flashlight beam, the captain shook his head. "No, sir, it felt like it does most nights, except maybe a little heavier. I just thought maybe we got a good catch tonight, ya know?" He sighed almost sadly.

Mike patted him on the shoulder. "Well, Captain, we'll take this off your hands now." He glanced at his partner then at the sergeant. "Rod, we need the body, not the fish, right? So, ah," he chuckled with a grim inevitability, "let's get a couple of the boys down there and get the body out."

The assistant coroner turned quickly towards the older detective. "Ah, Lieutenant, don't we need pictures…?"

Mike cocked his head and smiled. "You're right, Albert, we _do_ need pictures, but not while it's still in there. We'll need pictures when we get it out here, on the deck. So right now we have to get it out of there and then you can wait for the photographer to show up before you pack it up and take it back to the office. How does that sound?"

Steve, standing behind the now flustered young coroner, swallowed a smile as he caught his partner's eye.

"Oh, ah, sure, Lieutenant, that makes sense."

Smiling and patting the young man's arm, Mike chuckled. "Good man. So, ah, so we can leave this in your hands, Albert? You'll get this all wrapped up and have Bernie get the report to us whenever he gets it done?" He stared at Albert Peretti with upraised eyebrows.

"Ah, yes, sir, of course, sir."

Mike winked. "Thanks, Albert." He turned to the sergeant. "Rod, Steve and I can leave this with you?"

"You got it, Lieutenant."

"Great, thanks. We've been pulling some late nights recently and we could use a little downtime."

"I hear ya." Caplan turned to the two uniformed officers who had backed away, gesturing them closer. "Okay, so we're gonna get Captain Joslyn and Ricky here to help us empty the hold. It's gonna get a little smelly and dirty, boys, so brace yourselves…"

Caplan's voice died away as Mike and Steve circled the wheelhouse to the prow of the boat and the ladder. Steve tapped the older man on the shoulder to get his attention. "Are we really just going to leave and let those guys do everything?"

One foot on the ladder, Mike turned back to his young partner. "I've seen many a floater in my day, Steve, and if you don't get to 'em within a day or two, unless they died with their I.D. in their pocket, there ain't a snowballs chance in hell of identifying them. And there's not going to be anything in that hold that's gonna help us identify him either or tell us what happened to him. We're gonna have to wait to see what Bernie can tell us, right? And I don't know about you, but I have no desire to ruin a perfectly good suit rooting around in that hold, do you?"

With a knowing nod and a smile, he continued up the ladder. Steve cocked his head, ruminating, then followed the older man up the ladder and onto the pier. A few curious fishermen remained but the majority had returned to their boats.

As they started off back up the pier to the parking lot, a voice floated towards them from the small pack still milling about. "So what did Stan bring back, Lieutenant?"

Mike laughed and called over his shoulder. "Ask _him_!" He glanced at Steve and chuckled. "Joslyn can dine out on this story for years!"

Laughing, Steve slapped the older man on the shoulder as they turned onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. He glanced up. "Doesn't look like it's gonna clear up anytime soon… gonna be a miserable day, I can feel it."

Mike smiled at him as they got closer to the car. "Say, ah, there's a good little breakfast place just up the road here, serves great bacon and eggs. All the fishermen go there when they come in in the morning. What say I treat us both to a couple of 'over easy's'?"

Steve, who had his hand on the driver's door, stepped away from the car and put both hands up. "You don't have to ask me twice!"

# # # # #

The dour-looking man in the black suit opened the glass paneled door with 450 Homicide stenciled on the glass and stepped through the small anteroom into the bullpen. A couple of heads snapped in his direction, frowning slightly, as he continued across the tile floor towards the small inner office.

As he passed Steve's desk, the young inspector, who was making notes on a legal length yellow pad, looked up and started, almost shaking his head in surprise as his eyes followed the visitor's progress to the door of his partner's office, pausing to wait for the lieutenant to finish his phone call.

Feeling a presence at his door and suspecting his partner, Mike glanced up and froze, his eyes widening. "Ah, yeah, thanks, John…. Yeah, look, ah, can I call you back? Something's come up…. Yeah, thanks, I'll call you back a little later…. Thanks." He hung the receiver up, continuing to stare at the balding man standing in the doorway. "Well, it's not often we see you up here, Bernie. What have you got?" He gestured the coroner into the room.

Holding up the file he held in his hand, Bernie took the few steps to the corner of the desk and dropped the folder. "I wanted to deliver this one in person," he said enigmatically with a tiny smile, glancing over his shoulder at Steve, who had joined them in the small office.

Mike glanced at his partner before pulling the folder closer and opening it, putting on the reading glasses that had been lying on the desk.

"This has got to be good," Steve chuckled as he glanced from Bernie to Mike.

"Well, I don't know about good, but definitely…. interesting," the coroner said inscrutably, watching the older man's eyes scan the report. "And I wanted to thank you both for the, ah, _fragrance_ that now permeates my entire office. Poor Albert is still taking showers every few hours trying to get that smell out of his hair and off his skin."

"Decomposing body or fish?" Steve asked waggishly and Bernie shot him a peeved sideways glance.

"Both." He couldn't hide his own chuckle and smile. "I think he threw his clothes away."

Mike had finished scanning the report and he sat back, taking off his glasses. Steve watched him with a frown. "What?"

Mike looked at Bernie and nodded in his partner's direction. "Tell him."

Nodding, Bernie looked at the younger man. "Well, it wasn't a complete body, no surprise there. It was only the torso and head, and one arm and one leg – the left. It is definitely a man but there's no way to tell how long he was in the water; my guess, at least two weeks but could be longer. I'm pegging him to be in his late twenties, early thirties, but that's just an educated guess at the moment. Most of the soft flesh on the face is gone, probably eaten by fish," the two detectives shifted uncomfortably, "so getting an I.D. is going to be extremely hard if you're going by that alone.

"From what we can tell, the limbs were severed post-mortem, probably by a boat propeller but I can't be a hundred percent sure on that. There's a fracture on the back of the skull that could be from a heavy object and that could have been the deathblow, but that can't be confirmed either, at least not yet. It could have happened post-mortem as well; there's just too much decomp to be sure."

He paused to take a breath and Steve shrugged. "So, why the special delivery? We could have read all this in the report?"

Bernie glanced at the inspector then turned back to Mike, raising his eyebrows. Mike nodded at the coroner who turned back to the younger man.

"It's what I found in his tissue that sparked my curiosity," he said with a slight smile. "We're still waiting for the complete toxicology report and that's gonna take some time, but I did find something unusual."

With a curious glance at his partner, Steve asked, inclining his head, "What?"

"Laudanum."

Steve brow furrowed; he could feel his partner's eyes boring into him. "Laudanum? Who uses laudanum anymore? What, has this guy been in the water since the 1800's?"


	2. Chapter 2

"So what about that, Bernie?" Mike asked with a nod in his partner's direction. "Who _does_ use laudanum anymore?"

The coroner chuckled dryly. "Well, as far as I know, nobody. But then again, I'm not travelling in the hippest social circles anymore. That, gentlemen, I will leave for you to figure out."

Mike nodded sardonically. "Thanks." He glanced at Steve and smiled, shaking his head. "So what else _can_ you tell us?"

"At this point, not much. I still have a lot of work to do but I'd peg the age at between twenty and forty right now, and he's probably Caucasian but that could change too. And as for where he went into the water, your guess is as good as mine at this point."

Steve snorted a laugh; Mike raised his eyebrows. "Well, it's a little more than we had when we were standing on the boat. Thanks, Bernie."

"Anytime," the coroner said with a chuckle as he turned and left the office.

Laughing softly and shaking his head, Steve sat in the guest chair, patting down his tie as he reached for the report and slid it across the desk, turning it around as he did so. "So, where do you want to go from here?"

Mike sat back, dropping his hands into his lap and snorting. "Good question. We don't know who he is, we don't know when or how he died, we don't know where he went into the water and we don't even know if he's from The City. Where _do_ we begin?"

"We've started with less than this before," Steve said encouragingly, flipping through the file.

"Oh really? When?" Mike shot back and the younger man looked up, pursing his lips, his stare unfocusing.

"You're right," he chuckled and Mike nodded emphatically, laughing softly.

"Look, ah, I still have to meet with John about the wrap-up on Conley – why don't you get in touch with Pete Chandler down in Missing Persons and see if you can match this," he pointed at the folder, "slim as it is, with anybody they have on file? And maybe expand it to the neighboring counties? Who knows? He could have gone into the water anywhere along the coast if he's been floating for two weeks."

Exhaling loudly, Steve started to get to his feet, snapping the folder closed. "I'll get in touch with the Harbor Master too, get his take on where he thinks this guy may have floated from."

"Good idea. Oh, and find out who's still selling laudanum too." Mike reached for the phone as the younger man started out of the office. "Good luck!"

# # # # #

The sun was starting to set when Steve hung up the phone, stood and, eyes on the notepad in his hand, crossed to the door of his partner's office. Mike looked up overtop of his reading glasses. "So?"

With a loud sigh, the younger man dropped heavily onto the guest chair and leaned back, crossing his legs. "I got bupkis. There's nobody in the Missing Persons files that even remotely resembles this guy, and nobody from Alemeda, Marin, Napa and Sonoma – I'm still waiting to hear from the others but I don't have my fingers crossed." With another sigh, he flipped back a few pages in his notebook while Mike waited patiently. "The Harbor Master was no help either – he said that the body could have floated in from anywhere if he was snagged that far off Land's End.

"And as for laudanum, there are a couple of pharmacies that carry it as a… _tincture of opium…_ but you need a prescription to get it and nobody that I can find sells laudanum on its own. It stopped being a viable _painkiller,_ " he chuckled, making air quotes, "at the turn of the century." Blowing air between his lips, he snapped the notebook shut and looked at his partner, raising his eyebrows. "So, maybe he _has_ been floating out there since the 1890's… god knows, the water can be cold enough, maybe he froze…."

Mike lowered his brow and stared at him evenly. "Go home. You're getting punch drunk."

Steve started to laugh and the older man joined him, rubbing a hand over his own tired eyes.

"We both need a good night's sleep. I tell you what, let me finish up this report and I'll get you to drive me home and neither one of us comes in till tomorrow afternoon. How does that sound?"

Stifling a yawn, Steve dragged himself to his feet. "I'm liking the sound of that very much." He held up his notebook. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"What _can_ we do? Listen, just, ah, put that notebook in your top drawer so we don't forget it altogether, but unless Bernie comes up with something else or by some miracle a clue as to who this guy is drops into our laps, I don't think there's anything else we _can_ do. Did you leave notice with the other jurisdictions about getting in touch with us if something comes up?"

"I did," Steve said from the doorway.

"Then we've done all we can for the poor bastard right now, don't you think?"

Nodding, Steve crossed slowly to his desk, opened the top side drawer and dropped the notebook in.

# # # # #

Mike opened the outer door to Homicide and held it after he passed through for Steve to follow. They both trudged towards the inner office, taking off their rain-sodden overcoats and shaking them out before hanging them on the metal coat rack just inside the door. Crossing slowly behind his desk, trying to work the kinks out of his stiff neck as he slipped the .38 off his belt and put it in the top drawer, Mike frowned at the unfamiliar file folder that was sitting atop the desk.

Reaching into his inner jacket pocket for his reading glasses, he slipped them on as he sat and opened the folder. Steve crossed back to the inner office door from his desk, holding up a phone message. "Irwin called, he's got a lead for us."

"That's nice," Mike mumbled absent-mindedly, his brow furrowed as he continued to read the file.

"What's that?"

"Hmmm?" Mike grunted, glancing up briefly and Steve nodded towards the folder.

"Oh, ah, it's the follow-up report from Bernie on that floater a couple of weeks back, remember?"

"The time traveler?"

Mike snorted, "Yeah, the time traveler." Steve laughed cheekily as he sat in the guest chair. "The body _is_ Caucasian, the age is still somewhere between twenty and forty, the hair color is brown, as are the eyes. The teeth were all knocked out except for four and they don't have any distinguishing characteristics, so we're out of luck there. He's pretty sure the blow to the back of the head was incapacitating if not fatal but that can't be proven a hundred percent, and the arm and leg were most likely severed by a boat propeller, like he thought."

"Okay," Steve said slowly, " so nothing new there."

"Ah ah ah," Mike said with a chuckle, looking up and grinning, "Bernie wasn't finished – seems he saved the best for last. The toxicology report, for what it is, the body being so permeated with sea water, shows that there was a great deal of alcohol in his system – Bernie thinks whiskey or something similar – the laudanum… and absinthe." He looked slowly up at his partner, eyes wide with surprise.

"Absinthe? You're kidding," Steve said slowly, a smile building as he leaned forward. "This is getting really weird… I mean, absinthe? It's illegal, isn't it?"

"Yeah, since the 'teens, I think, just like laudanum."

They stared at each other for several long beats, both trying to work through the implications. Finally Mike looked back down at the file and squirmed slightly. "You know, you keep saying that maybe this guy's been in the water since the last century… maybe you're right…"

Steve chuckle was suddenly mirthless and the last vestiges of his smile disappeared. He cleared his throat. "So, ah, what do you want to do about him?"

"About who?" Mike asked, looking up again.

"About Mr. Laudanum."

Mike's features folded in confusion and Steve started to laugh.

"Well, we have to call him something," the younger man whined genially, throwing his hands up in a shrug.

Joining in the laughter, Mike shook his head and closed the file. "You got a point; we can't keep calling him The Floater." He sighed heavily. "Well, this is all fine and good," he raised the folder, "but it doesn't help us a helluva lot, does it?" He held the file out. "Put it in the drawer with your notebook, will ya, in case something else comes up."

Steve took the folder as he stood. "Sure. And I'll follow up on Irwin, see what he has for us."

As he left the room he heard Mike's gentle laughter. "Mr. Laudanum…"

# # # # #

Steve glanced at his watch, starting slightly. "Shit," he muttered under his breath as he tossed the pen onto the desk and looked towards the inner office. Mike was leaning over his desk, studying a large file.

The inspector got to his feet and approached the door, rolling his left sleeve down and buttoning the cuff. "Mike," he called sotto voce and the lieutenant looked up over the top of the black-rimmed glasses. "Listen, ah, I gotta date tonight, is it okay if I take off?"

Slowly, a broad grin building, Mike reached up and took the glasses off, leaning back in the chair and chuckling. "Oh, you do, do you? And what makes you think I'm gonna let you go early?"

"Early? It's six already, and I was in at seven with you, remember?"

Continuing to chuckle, Mike nodded, "Yeah, I remember. Do I know this one?"

Steve thought about it for a split second then grinned. "Ah, no – no, you don't know this one."

"I don't, hunh? Blonde, brunette –?"

"Redhead."

The older man's eyebrows shot up. "A redhead, hunh? Been awhile since you've dated a redhead…"

"What, are you keeping track?" Steve asked with a laugh as he stepped quickly back to his desk and snagged his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugging it on.

"Well, somebody has to," Mike chuckled affectionately. "So, what would you do if I said I had some phone calls for you to make?" he asked facetiously, awaiting the response he knew would be coming.

"I'd say you were crimping my style, Mike, seriously," he laughed as he lifted the almost dry beige raincoat from the coat rack and started to put it on.

"Get out of here!" Mike growled good-naturedly as he leaned over his desk again and put the glasses back on. "But don't forget what I always say, don't –"

"Come in with half-a-head tomorrow, I know, I know," Steve finished amiably as he adjusted the cuffs of the raincoat and turned toward the outer door. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

He had taken a couple of steps away when Mike's loud voice stopped him in his tracks.

"What did you say?!"

Confused, Steve turned and went back to the inner office door. Mike was staring at him with a furrowed brow. "I said I wouldn't come in with half-a-head –"

"No no, not that, before that," the older man cut him off sharply. "About your style…?"

Steve thought for a split second, trying to recall precisely what he'd said. "I said… I said you were crimping my style… why?"

Mike's look turned inward and very slowly he began to smile. "That's it."

Frowning, Steve took a step into the office. "What's it?"

"There was something bothering me about our Mr. Laudanum, and I think you just cracked it for me." He looked up at his partner and grinned. "I really think you did."


	3. Chapter 3

"What are you talking about?" Steve took another step into the office, a puzzled smile lighting his face.

Shaking his head with a pleased and bewildered grin, Mike raised his eyes from the desktop and chuckled. "Oh, ah, nothing… You, ah, you can go… go on your date." He waved ineffectually towards the door with his right hand. "I've gotta get outa here myself."

Shaking his own head, continuing to smile as he studied the older man, Steve crossed to the corner of the desk. "No no no, you're not gonna leave me hanging…"

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, all innocence.

With a low dry chuckle and cocking his head, Steve's eyes narrowed. "You can't just say 'That's it' and tell me you figured something out about our Mr. Laudanum and then just send me on my way without telling me. What is it?"

Still smiling cryptically, Mike glanced down and swallowed heavily. "Look, ah, I have some digging to do before I say anything. I could be totally wrong about this and I want to make sure I know what I'm talking about before I open my mouth and make a complete ass of myself." He closed the file he had been reading and started to roll his sleeves down. "So you go on your date, and I'll fill you in tomorrow if I think I'm right about this, okay? Is that a deal?"

His features contorting in a peeved and almost petulant scowl, Steve studied the older man who got to his feet behind the desk, continuing to grin under raised eyebrows. "Deal. _But_ –" he said forcefully, raising an admonishing finger, "I want you to tell me anyway, even if you think you're wrong. Okay?"

With a curt nod and a chuckle, Mike snapped, "Okay. Now get outa here, go have fun."

Steve took a step towards the door again and stopped. "Where are _you_ going?"

"The library," Mike said with a laugh as he shrugged his suit jacket on.

# # # # #

Mike shouldered the front door of his house open, leaning across the threshold to set a stack of books on the floor then turned to start the long trek back to the car. The second trip involved a smaller pile of books and a large paper bag that he balanced on top.

Less than ten minutes later he was sitting at the kitchen table with his reading glasses on, one of the books propped open in Jeannie's cookbook stand on the far side of the table, a pad and pen at the ready, and an open beer can and a piping hot calzone in front of him. It was going to be a long night.

# # # # #

Putting a hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver at his ear, Steve watched his partner come through the Homicide office door and cross slowly towards his office, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "I was wondering when you were gonna drag yourself in this morning," he chuckled, rewarded with a scowl as the older man gingerly slid the wet topcoat off and hung it on the coat rack.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Mike said through another yawn, "but has it really been raining every day for the last month?"

Sergeant Norm Haseejian looked up from his desk across the room and laughed. "Nah, it just seems like it."

Trying to shake off the lethargy, Mike slowly circled his desk, putting the .38 in the drawer before taking off his suitcoat and dropping it over the back of the chair. Steve finished the phone call and got to his feet, laughing quietly as he crossed to the inner office in time to see his partner slump wearily into his chair and yawn once more.

"Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

Mike shook his head, more to keep himself awake than in answer. "I think I fell asleep at the kitchen table as the sun was coming up… I'm not sure."

"And you thought _I_ was gonna come in with half a head," the younger man muttered as he sunk onto the guest chair. "Please don't tell me you spent the night in the library? I didn't think that was allowed." He chuckled and watched as the older man stared at him in feigned annoyance, a look he knew so well.

"No, smartass, I took the books out and brought them home."

"You have a library card?"

"I have a badge. Works just as well."

Steve laughed. "So, are you ready to tell me what little nugget I unlocked for you last night?"

Mike nodded, yawning again. "After a coffee," he managed to get out. "I seriously need one of Norm's paint-peeling coffees this morning."

"I heard that!" came the affronted voice from the bullpen and everyone laughed.

"I'll get it," Steve chortled as he got up and crossed back out to the coffee table, fishing a couple of dimes from his pocket and dropping them into the kitty can. When he returned to the inner office, Mike was sitting as he had left him, with his eyes closed. Steve put one of the mugs on the desk with a loud thud and Mike jerked involuntarily, his eyes snapping open.

"Oh, ah, thanks," he mumbled, putting both hands around the mug and bringing it to his lips, pausing briefly to inhale the strong aroma before taking a big gulp. Steve flinched slightly; the coffee was very hot but Mike didn't seem to notice.

Closing his eyes and lowering the cup, Mike sighed loudly. "God, I needed that."

Trying not to laugh too loudly, Steve took a sip of his own coffee before asking, "So what was it I said that set you off on your…" he was about to say _wild goose chase_ but thought better of it, "…your odyssey last night?"

"You don't remember?" Mike took another big gulp of the questionable coffee.

"I said you were crimping my style… what on earth –?"

"Crimp," Mike said sharply. "Most people would've said 'cramping my style' but you said 'crimp'. Why?"

Steve's brow furrowed and he inclined his head. After a few seconds of silent thought, he shook his head. "I have no idea. I think I've always said crimp. It's right either way, I'm pretty sure."

Starting to smile, Mike nodded. "Oh, it is. But it was your choice of 'crimp' that did it for me."

"Why?"

"Well, you're not old enough to remember, and before you say anything remotely sarcastic, neither am I," Mike said with a pointed stare, "but _crimps_ were a big part of San Francisco history… along the Barbary Coast."

Steve cocked his head and his eyes narrowed. "Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?" he asked slowly.

With an almost enigmatic smile, Mike nodded. He knew the younger man was a curious and voracious reader and would no doubt have knowledge of the seemier side of The City's past.

Steve leaned forward slowly and put his mug on the desk, meeting the older man's eyes evenly. He knew only too well that his veteran partner did not engage in flights of fancy; this would be a carefully considered theory that he knew he would need to evaluate.

But still….

He leaned back slowly, letting his eyes drift upwards, and he started to shake his head slowly. "Mike, you can't be serious… I mean, do you actually think there's a Shanghai bar operating in San Francisco again… in this day and age…?"

Mike's smile never wavered, and now he nodded slowly and deliberately. "Yes, I do." He gestured vaguely towards the bullpen. "Close the door, will ya?"

The younger man got up and, stretching to his left, got his fingertips on the knob and flipped the door closed before sitting again.

"I did a lot of reading last night, about the crimps - James Kelly, Johnny Devine….. the bars… the streets…. They preyed on men who were alone, who were down on their luck, who had no family and no friends. Men that nobody would miss if they just… disappeared."

"Yeah but, Mike, those were the days when you _could_ kidnap someone and put them on a ship and send them to China or god knows where and they couldn't jump ship or they'd drown or be eaten by sharks or whatever… And if I remember correctly, the invention of the steamship effectively killed the Shanghai business, didn't it?"

"It did," Mike agreed with a curt nod. "But Steve, think about it. Everything fits. We've got the body of a guy who no one seems to care is missing, let alone dead, his body is found loaded with whiskey, absinthe and laudanum, which actually _is_ the… cocktail, or whatever you want to call it, the crimps used to use to incapacitate their marks before kidnapping them –"

"But we found Mr. Laudanum floating in the ocean…"

"I know, but maybe he jumped overboard in an attempt to get away." Mike took a deep breath, then held up a hand when Steve opened his mouth to speak again. "Hear me out, Steve. What if… let's just say I'm on the right track here, for arguments sake, okay?" He stared at the younger man, eyebrows arched.

Slowly Steve nodded. "Okay, for arguments sake…"

"You know as well as I do that this city attracts a lot of lost, lonely, vulnerable people who come here for all kinds of reasons. They came here in the sixties for the peace and the love and a lot of them stayed and a lot of them still arrive every day. You know that." The younger man nodded. "And a lot of them are alone, they're runaways or drug addicts or people with a past they just want to get away from… people that no one will miss now or in the future.

"And there are still a lot of ships out there, ships from other countries, some of which never go into port anywhere, who need a continuous supply of manpower to keep them going. The pay is lousy or non-existent, the working conditions are sub-human… So what do they do? They use slave labor… they use what they can get.

"So suppose someone here thought, well, Shanghai'ing worked before, why wouldn't it work now? As long as they can get their hands on able-bodied men that no one cares about, that no one'll miss, it's an all-night market in this city, isn't it?"

Steve had sat back slowly, allowing his partner's studied and well-crafted explanation to sink in. The more the older man talked, the more plausible the seemingly wild speculation had become.

Mike could see that the logic of his argument was beginning to find fertile ground. A small smile began to build again. "I want you to do me a favor, Steve. I want you to get in touch with the Coast Guard and the police departments in all the counties up and down the coast around here and ask them if they've had any unidentified bodies wash up in the past year or so. If I'm right about this, our Mr. Laudanum might not be the only poor bastard who didn't want to spend his last days as slave labor aboard ship somewhere in the middle of the ocean."


	4. Chapter 4

Steve crossed the tile floor of the Homicide bullpen and entered the inner office, closing the door behind him. "This just got delivered," he said, putting a large manila envelop on the desk in front of his partner. "Special delivery from Santa Cruz."

Mike looked up, his eyes wide and bright behind the glasses. "Their floater?"

"Their _second_ one," Steve nodded, eyebrows raised. "Four months ago." He watched as the older man reached into the top drawer and removed a letter opener, slicing through the top of the envelope and sliding the file folder out onto the desk. "That makes five altogether, including our Mr. Laudanum."

As Mike opened the file he glanced at the younger man with a grin and a chuckle. "Still think I'm on a snipe hunt?"

"I'm beginning to come around," Steve agreed with a snort and a smile as he straddled the turned-around guest chair and moved the legal length yellow pad closer to his side of the desk, picking up the pen. "Okay, give me the details and let's see if they match," he sighed in rueful acceptance as Mike began to scan the new reports.

Twenty minutes later, Steve tossed the pen on the desk and stood up, stretching his tightening back muscles. "Well, seems like a match to me." He looked at the older man, who was still staring at the papers scattered across his desk. "So, it looks like there's definitely a pattern here. What do you want to do next?"

Sighing loudly, Mike leaned back in the chair and shrugged with a frown. "Well, I have been, ah… _ruminating_ on it for the past few days," he started with a gentle chuckle and watched the younger man smile.

"I bet you have."

"Yeah, well, we still have a lot of work to do before we take this to Rudy and I try to sell him my plan."

"And what plan would that be?" Steve asked, his smile beginning to turn into a wary frown.

Mike cleared his throat and glanced down at the desk again. "Well, there's only one way I can think of to… infiltrate this little operation, if this is what we're beginning to agree it is."

The younger man watched as his partner's eyes drifted slowly up to meet his own, and the grave inevitability that they now held. "Bait…?" he asked softly, more a statement than a question.

"Yeah," came the quiet affirmation.

Steve shuffled slightly. "Me?"

"No no no," Mike said quickly, shaking his head and leaning forward. "I didn't mean you."

"Why not?"

"Well –" Mike stopped and studied the younger man for a second before cocking his head. "What? Are you saying you'd want to?"

It was Steve's turn to hesitate. "Well, I'm, ah, I'm not sure… I think I'd have to have more details before I make a decision, you know…" he hedged, not quite closing the door on the idea. "It depends on what you had in mind."

"Of course, of course," Mike said quickly, as a smile flickered briefly across his features. "Ah, I have to give it a lot more thought before we take this to Rudy. But you could do me another favor."

"Sure, name it."

"We need to talk to someone who knows what going on, and I mean _really_ going on, in the bar scene in this town. And I don't mean Top of the Mark and places like that. I'm talking the dives, the back-alley –"

"I know what you mean," Steve cut him off with a smile and a chuckle. "A couple of the guys I used to run with in Vice know all about that world. How 'bout I give 'em a call and see when they can meet us?"

Mike grinned. "The sooner the better, buddy boy, the sooner the better."

# # # # #

Steve dropped the pizza box on the counter as Mike opened an upper cupboard and took out two plates. Pausing for a second as if trying to recall something, the younger man stepped nearer the stove and opened the top drawer alongside it, frowning.

"Next one down," Mike instructed as he crossed to the table, holding the plates in one hand as he quickly tossed the linen placemats in approximate positions and laying the plates down on top of them.

With an assenting nod, Steve closed the top drawer and opened the one below, his eyebrows rising happily as he spied the object he was seeking. Grabbing the pizza wheel, he flipped open the top of the cardboard box, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes before making the first crosscut.

"Come on, Mike, you gotta admit that this is the best pizza in The City, bar none. I mean, just take a whiff of that sauce…"

Laying out the cutlery and tossing some paper napkins on the table, Mike glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. "All right, I'll admit, it smells pretty good. But the proof is in the pudding, buddy boy. If it tastes like it smells, I just might convert."

"From Tony's? Come on, it'll be no contest."

A deep laugh was Mike's only response as he opened the fridge door, took out two cans of Bud and popped the tabs before setting them on the table.

Picking up a slice of pizza, Steve looked at the counter and then over his shoulder. "Where are the plates?"

"Oh," Mike laughed as he turned to the table and picked them both up, "I was getting ahead of myself." He held one up and Steve slid a steaming slice onto it, shaking his head and chuckling, then did the same with the second plate.

"Look," Steve said, pointing at the long brown silhouettes on the second slice that looked like fossil impressions against the tomato sauce, "anchovies. I remembered."

Mike paused, bestowing his best long-suffering look upon the younger man. "And I thank you again… for the third time," he said dryly as he returned to the table and dropped the plates unceremoniously onto the placemats.

Chuckling almost evilly, Steve flipped the top of the pizza box closed before he crossed to the table and flopped into the empty chair. He picked up the beer can and took a long pull. "So," he said conversationally as he put the beer down and picked up the slice, "have you figured out what you're gonna say to Rudy tomorrow?"

Mike, who had taken his first bite, stared into the middle distance as he chewed. Steve took the opportunity to take his own first bite. Swallowing, the older man sighed. "I think so." His eyes met the younger man's. "So are you sure you want to volunteer for this, ah, this… assignment? It's not going to be easy, you know."

Steve grinned as he chewed, nodding. "I know. Why do you think I've been letting this grow out for the past few days?" He thrust his chin forward; the three days growth of beard was getting harder to ignore.

"I know, I know," Mike muttered under his breath as he held the pizza slice up to take another bite, "you want to look the part."

"What – you don't want me to do it now?" The green eyes narrowed in sudden confusion.

Mike chewed and swallowed before he answered. "No, no," he said slowly, "I think you're the perfect choice for this. I mean, you know this case inside and out just as well as I do, of course, so…" He shrugged noncommittally. "It's just…"

"I know," Steve said quietly, "it's dangerous, I know. But Mike, I don't think you're wrong, and I think we really have to stop this or more people are gonna disappear and more are gonna die… right?"

Mike stared at him for several long seconds then nodded once. "Right." He folded what was left of his slice and took another bite.

Looking down, trying to hide the affection in his smile, Steve studied the pizza on the plate in front of him. "So, ah, what _are_ you going tell Rudy tomorrow?"

Sighing loudly, Mike snorted and looked down at the table. "Well, at the moment I have no clue. I have a couple of ideas rattling around in this big noggin of mine and I'll see which one… I don't know… which one makes more sense in the morning. In other words, I'm gonna sleep on it."

Steve chuckled with a warm grin. "Good idea." He glanced at his watch. "Hey, why don't we move this into the living room – the news is on. I'd kinda like to find out what's going on in the rest of the world."

"Good idea."

# # # # #

Captain Rudy Olsen closed the large file folder in front of him and looked up at the two detectives sitting in the leather armchairs on the other side of his desk. A significant pause lengthened as he contemplated what he had just been told and read then he looked from one to the other. "So both of you really believe that a… a gang is operating a Shanghai'ing scam here in The City again. In the 1970's?"

Steve looked sideways at his older partner, who hadn't taken his eyes off their superior officer. "I know it sounds crazy, Rudy, but right now it's the only thing that fits," Mike began. "The bodies floating in the ocean, the head wounds, the laudanum, the absinthe… the fact that every one of the bodies remain unidentified and unclaimed, and there seems to be no sign that that's gonna change anytime soon."

"But, Mike, seriously, Shanghai'ing? I know that's a… a _colorful_ part of our past but still…"

"I've done a lot of research on this, Rudy, believe me, and I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't think it was happening again. But… don't think of it only as Shanghai'ing… Press gangs were plying their trade long before the name 'Shanghai' became a verb, believe me."

"Press gangs?" Mike heard Steve almost whisper in his ear and from the corner of his eye he saw the younger man look towards the captain and they both frowned in confusion.

Mike leaned back, taking his partner in with a quick glance. "Press gangs were used to man a _voluntary_ army or navy… although it wasn't so voluntary, if you know what I mean. They started up in the seventeen hundreds, so it's nothing new."

Olsen looked from Steve to Mike and inhaled deeply. "But this is just a theory at the moment, right?" he asked carefully.

Mike hesitated for a beat and then nodded. "Yes, it's just a theory… but it's also something I really believe is happening and I'd like the chance to prove it."

Olsen stared at his lieutenant for several long beats then let his eyes slide slowly towards the inspector, who was looking at him with studied equanimity. He blinked quickly several times and cleared his throat. "So, ah, so what do you want to do about it, Mike?"

The lieutenant released a held breath and shifted slightly, folding his arms. "Well, Steve and I talked to Alan Crosby and Keith Rowland from Vice the other day, and we asked them about what bars… what _dives_ they think could be the front for something like this."

"Oh yeah?" Olsen responded, looking quickly from one homicide cop to the other. "What did they say?"

With a quick glance at his partner, Steve took over the narrative. "Well, ah, they didn't think it would be a place anywhere near where the old Barbary Coast was, and that really made a lot of sense to us too." Mike nodded his confirmation.

"They turned us on to a couple of places in the 'Loin and one south of Market."

"We're gonna do some… reconnaissance in the next few days and pin down the one we want to concentrate on first, and then… well, then we want to send in a plant… a potential involuntary sailor," Mike picked up again.

Nodding slowly while his lieutenant talked, his brow furrowed, Olsen's pale eyes snapped to the young inspector. "A plant? Who? You?"

Glancing quickly at his partner, Steve cleared his throat as he nervously and unnecessarily patted his tie down. "Ah, yes, sir."

Olsen snorted. "I was wondering what the stubble was all about; it's not like you to look so… unkempt."

Mike covered his laugh with a soft cough, looking down to try to hide the sudden smile. He uncrossed his arms and began drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. "I'm gonna need some guys from Vice and probably Missing Persons at first, just to get a read on which place we want to concentrate on…" he ventured, watching his superior closely for any objections.

Olsen nodded, pursing his lips. "That makes sense, and I don't see a problem with it. I'll leave it to you to arrange all that, okay?"

"Thanks," Mike nodded, "and then, when I feel we have everything set up, we'll, ah, we'll send in our _decoy_ ," he glanced at his partner, "and see if they take the bait."

Olsen's concerned stare flashed from one partner to the other. "You're gonna send Keller in alone?" he asked sharply.

A soft smile appeared as Mike leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, staring at the captain evenly. He felt Steve's eyes on him. "No, he's not going to be alone. I'm gonna be in there with him."


	5. Chapter 5

"What?!" Olsen erupted, leaning forward across the desk, his narrowed eyes boring into the calm blue ones of the lieutenant.

Beside him, Mike felt Steve stiffen and turn sharply in his direction.

"What the hell do you mean you're gonna be in there with him?" the captain continued, trying to keep the growing irritation out of his voice.

Mike smiled disarmingly. "I mean exactly that, I'm gonna be in the bar with him." He watched as Olsen's eyes flicked towards Steve and returned; he sat back slowly, glancing at the young man who was staring at him under a furrowed brow.

"Listen, we know nothing about how these guys operate right now. All we know from what we've been able to glean from the autopsies is that these are... _were_ able-bodied men whose ages range somewhere between early twenties to late fifties. So, I think we have to… expand our menu so to speak, give them a choice between a healthy and strong young guy who's trying to start his life over for some reason," he glanced once more in Steve's direction, "or a reasonably fit middle-aged guy who's fed up with life and just wants to get away from it all at the bottom of a bottle."

Olsen inclined his head. "You…" he stated softly and the lieutenant smiled slightly.

"Yeah, me."

The captain sighed, continuing to stare, as if trying to find some reason to put the kibosh on this seemingly insane idea. "You do know you're not going to be able to fake it, right? You're going to have to do some serious drinking."

Mike nodded slowly. "I know. And it's gonna have to be hard liquor too, I know that. From the research I did, the laudanum was usually disguised in whiskey, so I guess that'll have to be my drink of choice."

"Mike…" Steve said quietly, knowing his partner was not a consumer of hard liquor, preferring beer and wine when he did indulge.

The older man turned to him with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'll get it on the rocks," he chuckled then looked back at their captain.

Exhaling loudly, Olsen sighed, "I guess I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this…" he began and Mike shook his head, smiling, "so," he continued, pushing the file across the desk, "I'll let you get on with it."

Laughing slightly, Mike stood, reaching for the file. Steve got to his feet slowly, his worried eyes still locked onto his partner as Mike picked up the folder and turned towards the door.

"Thanks, Rudy," Mike called over his shoulder as he opened the office door and began to exit.

"Keep me in the loop!" the captain called after them as Steve closed the door and took a couple of quick steps to catch up to his partner as they crossed through the outer office and turned into the corridor.

"Why didn't you tell me you're going to use yourself as bait too?" he asked almost angrily as he fell into step beside the taller man.

Mike glanced over at him and smiled. "Because I didn't think of it until we were in the middle of our pitch to Rudy." He chuckled slightly and the younger man's frown deepened even more. "Besides, why should you have all the fun?"

"Mike!" Steve growled, grabbing the older man's arm and pulling him to a stop in the middle of the corridor. He looked quickly up and down the hallway, hoping they weren't attracting undue attention, but it was proving difficult to find the right words.

Mike waited, a patient smile on his face as he watched his young friend struggle, then he gently pulled his arm free. "Come on," he said amiably, cocking his head down the corridor in the direction they'd been going. "We've got an appointment with Mark Miranda in Bunco. He's gonna come up with the fake paperwork we're both gonna need."

His smile getting a little wider, Mike started off again; Steve hesitated a few seconds before following, his unease continuing to grow.

# # # # #

"Okay, so I'll get you both a full set of I.D.'s – driver's license, credit card, that kinda thing. You won't need too much, I wouldn't think."

Mike shook his head. Miranda glanced from the smiling lieutenant to the scowling inspector. He didn't know Steve Keller all that well but he could tell that the younger man was definitely out of sorts.

They were in the middle of the Bunco squadroom, Mike sitting on the end of an unoccupied desk. The phone in the glass-walled inner office began to ring and Miranda glanced towards it. "Sorry," he said to the two homicide detectives, "I've gotta get that. Allan's not in today. Be right back."

As the documents expert moved away, Mike looked up at his sullen partner. "Come on, out with it," he said flatly, losing the smile. "What is it about me wanting to go undercover that's bugging you so much?"

Steve exhaled loudly, his eyes snapping towards his partner's. He opened his mouth to say something then seemed to think better of it.

"What?" Mike persisted, reaching out to slap the younger man lightly on the arm. "You don't think I can do it?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably, looking down and away. "It's not that…" he said softly.

"Then what?"

Knowing Mike was not going to let the matter drop, he hung his head and inhaled deeply. "Look, what if they go after you –?"

"Well, that's what we want, isn't it?" Mike cut him off with a chuckle. "We want them to go after one of us, and the odds are, Steve, it's gonna be you. But what if they do come after me? We're gonna have guys all over that place – at least one inside and more out. They might be able to incapacitate us but they won't be able to get us out of the building. And if we give them two possible… _recruits…_ " he chuckled, "chances are they'll pick one of us. That _is_ what we want, right?"

When Steve didn't say anything, Mike slapped him lightly again. "Come on, throw an old dog a bone once in a while, will ya?" His laugh was infectious.

Very slowly a smile began to appear on the younger man's face and he started to nod. With an artificially loud sigh, he finally met the older man's sparkling eyes. "All right, but you gotta promise me you'll stay out of trouble. I don't want to have to worry about you the entire time you're in there."

Miranda had hung up the phone and was making his way back towards them. Mike's grin got even wider. "You just worry about yourself, buddy boy," he chuckled, pleased when he was rewarded with a warm laugh from his young partner, and grateful beyond words for the concern.

"Say, fellas, ah, I'm kinda tied up for the rest of the day so I'm not gonna be able to start on this stuff until tomorrow morning. So I have an idea." He took them both in with a wide smile. "Now I know both of you are going be working on the back-stories for your new, ah, personas, so I tell you what. I want each of you to pick the pseudonym for the other."

"What?" Mike asked, his features contorting in confusion.

"That means our fakes names," Steve offered facetiously.

Mike's face fell and he looked at his partner in annoyance. "I know what it means, smartass." Both Steve and Miranda laughed.

"Mike," the documents expert said, trying not to sound condescending, "what _I_ mean is, you two know each other so well, I'm giving you a little homework assignment. I want _you_ to come up with Steve's fake name and he gets to come up with yours."

Steve's smile, which was big to begin with, got even wider. "Ooooh, I am liking this… I am liking this a lot," he said with an evil chuckle.

Mike looked at him without expression, then the Cheshire cat grin began to slowly appear. "Yeah… yeah, I like that too. I really do." He turned to the third man as Steve's smile began to waver. "Thanks, Mark, we'll do that. So, what? We just call you in the morning?"

Beaming, his wide eyes bouncing from one homicide detective to the other, he shook his head enthusiastically. "No, I'm guessing you both want to change your look, right?" They nodded. "Well, I'm gonna need photos then too, for the driver's license and maybe a business card for you, Mike, when you decide what your doppelganger does for a living. So why don't you both meet me here tomorrow morning at, say, 9 and you can make your… presentations."

The partners stared at each other, both of them smiling, both of them nodding… and both of their minds racing.

# # # # #

Sitting in the guest chair next to Mark Miranda's desk, Steve stroked the beard that had grown in nicely and glanced at his watch once more. 8:58. His anticipatory stare returned to the door just in time to see it open and his partner stride into the room. With a deep, slow chuckle, grinning, he got to his feet. "Well, well, well, look at you," he said through the laugh as Mike stopped just inside the door and held his arms out, presenting himself.

"Well, what do you think?" Heads around the office turned in his direction and there was a spattering of laughter.

Steve slowly circled the older man, taking in the slightly ill-fitting light grey suit, white shirt and brown shoes, the black and red striped tie, and the gold-rimmed glasses under hair that had been combed forward over his forehead. He held a beige raincoat over one arm and a black leather briefcase in the other hand.

"Well, well, well…" Steve said languidly, his eyes continuing to survey the apparition before him, nodding his approval. "If, ah, if you're going for uncomfortable-in-his-own-skin bureaucrat, I think you nailed it."

"Why thank you, buddy boy. I was going for accountant but… close enough!" Mike chuckled, bobbing his head, staring with delight at his shaggy partner. "So, ah, what are you? Disillusioned former hippie? Biker without a gang? Rebel looking for a cause?"

Steve stopped circling and looked down at himself, holding his arms away from his body. He was wearing jeans with a black leather metal-studded belt, cowboy boots, a mustard yellow corduroy shirt under a very well broken-in black leather jacket, a dirty blue-and-white bandana tied around his neck and a leather thong around his right wrist. With a genial chuckle, he held up a key dangling from a short silver chain.

"I rented a Hog this morning."

Mike stared at him from under a lowered brow. "You're kidding. You really did?"

With a closed-mouth smile, Steve nodded. Mike frowned briefly. "I like the idea, but do you think a guy with a Harley would be a good choice to, ah… disappear? They'd have to get rid of the bike."

"I need the money… I want to sell it and get outa town, in a hurry."

With a facial shrug, Mike nodded slowly, mulling it over. "I like it… yeah, that might just work."

"So, ah, what about you? What's your story?"

"Me? Oh, ah, a dead-end accounting job, which I lost last month, and then my wife kicked me out. My kids don't talk to me anymore… I'm staying in a flea-bag motel off Divisadero…" He sighed heavily and turned his puppy-dog eyes on his grinning partner.

Mark Miranda had joined them and was nodding his approval. "Good lord, you two really took my little challenge to heart."

"If you're gonna do something, do it right," Mike laughed with a nod, turning to show his outfit to the documents expert.

"So, ah, what names did you pick for each other?" Miranda asked with a chuckle, his eyes snapping back and forth between the two.

Steve gestured towards his partner. "Age before…" he began with an evil chortle, taking no apparent notice of Mike's heavy sigh.

"Ignoring that," Mike said pleasantly as he faced the Bunco detective, "I believe that it's the boy's turn to go first for a change. And as rank hath its privileges," he turned to Steve and opened his arms, "please, I want to hear your… contribution first."

With a snort and a quick shake of his head, Steve looked at Miranda. "All right. Mark, I would like you to meet Archibald Richardson." He looked at Mike with expectantly raised eyebrows. "Archie, meet Mark."

Mike's face fell. "Archibald Richardson? Are you kidding me?"

"What, you have a problem with it, Archie?"

"Well, it's a little long, isn't it?"

"I have enough letters," Miranda offered glibly, trying to hide his grin as his eyes bounced from one partner to the other.

"What's wrong with it?" Steve asked archly.

"Oh, ah, nothing, nothing," Mike muttered, "but you really should get that Watergate obsession under control."

Miranda frowned as he stared at the lieutenant.

Cocking his head, Mike explained, "Archibald Cox and Elliot Richardson – two of his heroes from that whole Nixon thing…" He gestured at Steve and shrugged.

Chuckling, Miranda shook his head and looked at the young inspector. "I think it's a great choice. So, Archie," he turned to Mike and nodded towards Steve, "what name do I put on _his_ driver's license?"

Mike looked at his partner with a smug smile. "Mitchell Sharpe, with an e."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Okay…" he said, drawing the word out and cocking his head. "Mitchell from …?"

"John Mitchell, of course - the man you love to hate." Mike's grin couldn't get any broader; he knew instantly that he had made the right choice.

Slowly nodding, Steve continued, "Okay… and Sharpe?"

Mike's smile disappeared and a look of genuine concern transformed his features. "Because that's what I want you to stay during all this, buddy boy – sharp."


	6. Chapter 6

"So how many guys are you gonna give us, Gary?" Mike asked his Vice counterpart. He was behind his own desk, jacket off, tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up, leaning back in his chair with his right foot on the open bottom drawer; Steve, just as casual, was leaning with his arms crossed against the filing cabinet beside the window. Lieutenants Gary Newman and Kyle Jenkins, both with Vice, were sitting in the chairs opposite, dressed for the street in jeans and golf shirts under their light windbreakers. Newman held a baseball cap in his hands.

"Altogether we've got 14 guys going in tonight, including Kyle and me. We're gonna hit all three and see what happens. Now we kinda figured that these places might not be the most, how shall I put it, accepting of… let's say, blacks and women."

The other three men nodded gravely as Newman sighed in frustration and continued, "So we're not going to use any women tonight, but we do have one black officer going into each of the bars. I think one of your guys is working with us tonight, right? Bill Tanner?"

Both Mike and Steve nodded.

"Yeah, we sorta figured that if the black guys got hassled or threatened or, god forbid, beaten up, we could cross that place off the list. Anyone that's Shanghai'ing people aren't about to start caring about color or religion or nationality, that's what we've been thinking. Do you guys agree?"

The homicide detectives nodded again, Mike glancing over his shoulder at his partner.

"So, do you think you'll have enough after tonight to make an educated guess as to which one we should concentrate on first?" Mike asked, taking his foot off the drawer and leaning forward.

Newman glanced at Jenkins, who nodded. "Yeah, we should. We probably won't nail it down, of course, but we might be able to eliminate one of them, if we're lucky." His striking blue eyes floated from Mike up to Steve. "I hear you two are chomping at the bit to get in there," he chuckled and beside him Newman laughed as well.

Grinning broadly, Mike leaned back again. "We're about to rewrite the annals of undercover police work in this city, just so you know," Mike said dryly with a slight swagger, breaking into a grin as he raised a palm and Steve slapped it.

"Damn right," agreed the younger man, barely containing his laughter.

"Well, I don't know about Gary but I'm really glad I'm gonna have a front row seat," Jenkins chortled, looking down, his beer belly jiggling. He started to get to his feet. "Say, ah, Mike," he asked suddenly with a frown, "if I remember correctly, you're not much of a drinker. What made you decide to do this? You do know you're not going to be able to fake it, right?"

Mike blew out a deep breath. "Oh, believe me, Kyle, I know. And if by some reason I didn't know, you wouldn't believe the number of people who have told me the exact same thing since word got out yesterday." The feigned exasperation in his voice made the others chuckle.

"So what are you going to do?" Newman asked.

Mike cocked his head and sighed. "Well, I guess I'm gonna find out just how much I _can_ drink without passing out… or wearing a lampshade... The first night is going to be very interesting… sort of a, oh, a social experiment with me as the guinea pig, I guess."

Everyone laughed but there was a tinge of concern in the sound.

"Well, don't worry, we're gonna have at least one guy inside with you and the rest of us'll be down the street, so you aren't going to be alone."

"I'm counting on it," Mike said with a chuckle as he got to his feet and walked to the office door with their Vice colleagues.

Newman turned back at the door. "So we'll call you first thing in the morning and then get everyone together and decide where we go from there. That sound good to you two?"

Mike glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who nodded. "Yeah, that works for us," Mike agreed, slapping Newman on the shoulder. "All you guys take care tonight – and make sure we get Bill Tanner back in one piece, okay?"

Chuckling, the Vice lieutenants started across the bullpen. "You got it, Mike. See ya tomorrow."

Mike watched them go, then turned and closed the office door, exhaling loudly as he crossed back to his chair and sat heavily. Steve pushed himself away from the file cabinet and sat in one of the chairs. He studied his partner for several long beats, leaning forward to put his forearms against the edge of the desk. "He's not wrong, you know," he said quietly, "about the drinking, I mean."

Mike was looking down at the desk, moving papers around, avoiding his partner's stare. "Oh, I'm very aware of that."

After another few seconds of silence, Steve ventured, "You can change your mind, you –"

Mike's head came up quickly and he grinned. "Say," he said louder than necessary, cutting the younger man off, "this might be our last free night for awhile. Let's get out of here and go someplace nice for dinner, what do you say? My treat."

Steve had closed his mouth, continuing to stare at his boss and closest friend, who looked back at him with raised eyebrows and a smile. Eventually Steve inhaled noisily and started to get to his feet.

Mike watched the younger man as he got up. "It'll be okay," he said quietly, continuing to meet the worried green-eyed glare.

Without another word, Steve opened the door and crossed heavily to his desk, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair.

# # # # #

"So," Mike said, getting up from his perch on the edge of Steve's desk and stepping into the centre of the bullpen, "you heard Gary – we're gonna start tonight at Coopers over on Howard. Everyone know the place?"

There were confirmations, in nods and grunts, from the assembled group. "Good. So, this is what we're gonna do tonight. We need to take this slow and easy, as we don't want to tip our hand and spook somebody. So I'm gonna be the one going in tonight – and only me." He glanced around the room, his gaze settling briefly on his partner's furrowed brow and pursed lips. "We've been talking about this a lot and consensus is that if this _is_ the… establishment that's at the heart of the _involuntary recruitment of sailors,"_ he said lightly and most of the others chuckled, "chances are they are not going to grab somebody the first time they lay eyes on them. They'll want to know that whoever they target is not going to be missed and, as we all know, that takes time."

He paused and looked around the room again. "Time. That's a luxury we don't have, gentlemen, so let's hope it doesn't take them too long to decide who their next victim is going to be, because there are lives at stake here." He looked at Steve again, receiving only a noncommittal stare in return. He spun towards Newman and Jenkins. "Gary and Kyle have your assignments, who is going in when and where everyone else will be staked out, for the next few nights. We'll be getting an early start tonight, I'm afraid. My, ah, doppelganger, as Mark Miranda likes to call him, is an unemployed accountant who pounds the pavement during the day looking for a job. Tonight he's gonna drag his sorry ass into Coopers and try to forget his miserable little life." He chuckled, relieved when most of the others joined him. He snuck another glance towards his partner; there was no expression on the younger man's face and Mike hesitated slightly before he continued. "Gary, you want to take over?"

Newman got up from a chair next to Haseejian's desk and took Mike's place in the centre of the room. "Okay, fellas, this is what's going to be happening tonight…" he began as the Homicide lieutenant walked towards his office, shooting a look across the room for his partner to follow.

Mike waited till Steve had entered the small office and begun to sit before he closed the door and crossed behind the desk. "Out with it," Mike said bluntly as he sat and leaned forward.

Steve blinked slowly several times, breathing through his nose, trying to get a grip on his unraveling composure. "I've told you already, I don't want you going in there alone tonight."

Mike watched him silently for several beats before a small smile softened his features. He shook his head slightly. "I won't be alone. Bobby Cox is going in about an hour after I get there, then he'll leave and Cole Harrison'll go in after that. Gary's got it all worked out."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"I know. I know you mean you want to be in there too. But that's not gonna happen. Not tonight. Both of us can't go in there the first time on the same night. That's why I'm putting in my first appearance tonight and you'll start tomorrow." Mike leaned forward slightly, sighing quietly, almost overwhelmed by the deep concern for his safety. "This isn't my first time going undercover, you know?" he chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. "And I've been pretty successful at it in the past. I mean, I'm still here, aren't I? I must have done something right."

Steve smiled slightly then shook his head in resignation. "I want you to have a big meal before you go in there tonight. It'll help absorb some of the liquor so it won't get into your system so quickly and you might feel the effects less."

Mike stared at him, unable to mask the affection in his eyes. "I'll do that, I promise," he said quietly.

# # # # #

The unmarked dark grey sedan pulled up to the curb on Minna, six blocks away from their targeted bar. Gary Newman glanced into the rearview mirror at the two detectives in the back seat.

Mike took a comb from his inside suitcoat pocket and began to comb his hair down over his forehead.

"Bobby'll be making his appearance in about a hour," Newman reminded him, "but you might not recognize him. That guy can change appearances like a chameleon."

"That's what makes him so good," Steve offered from his place beside his partner, watching as Mike put the comb away and took out the gold-rimmed glasses, slipping them on.

"How do I look?" he asked, turning to the younger man.

"Archie, my man, you look like you could use a drink," Steve said with a laugh and they both heard Newman chuckling in the front seat.

Raising his eyebrows, Mike reached for the door handle. "Okay, well, I better get going. The sooner I get there, the sooner we can get the ball rolling. Wish me luck." He opened the door and was starting to get out when Steve grabbed his arm to stop him. Their eyes met; neither was smiling.

"Be careful," the younger man said quietly, and Mike nodded, getting out and closing the door.

Steve and Newman watched as Mike put the briefcase on the sidewalk between his feet and shrugged the beige raincoat on over the light-grey suit. Then, picking up the briefcase and with one quick look back at the car, he headed down the street, blending into the crush of weary commuters making their ways home after a long day's work. Within seconds he turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

With a heavy worried sigh, Steve sat back against the seat. Staring at the young cop in the rearview mirror, Newman pulled the sedan away from the curb and back into traffic.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve brought the cardboard cup to his lips and took a sip of the now tepid coffee. He was sitting in the passenger seat of the dark gray sedan; Newman was behind the wheel, a walkie-talkie in his lap. They were in an alley off 2nd.

The sun had long gone and the bitter wind that was blowing in off the Bay was beginning to permeate the car and the lightweight jackets the two detectives were wearing. The walkie-talkie crackled to life and Newman picked it up, both of them straining to make out the static-filled words that suddenly filled the car.

" _Bobby's on his way."_

Steve sat up straighter, staring at the entrance to the alley in anticipation. A dark figure turned into the short dead-end street and approached the car, quickly getting into the back seat behind Newman.

"What's happening?" Steve asked impatiently before the undercover cop even had time to close the door.

Grinning broadly, the dark-haired and bearded Cox began to laugh. "You can relax, Steve, he's doing great. He's sitting at the bar, nursing a Scotch Rocks, and staring at the coaster like it was his only friend. I swear, he looks so pathetic I almost went over to say something to him myself, like, you know, 'Buck up, buddy, it can't be _that_ bad.'"

Newman laughed and Steve allowed himself a relieved sigh and a chuckle.

"See, I told ya," Newman said, looking at the younger man beside him, "I told you Mike'd be okay. He knows what he's doing."

"I know he knows what he's doing," Steve began with a frustrated sigh, "I just –"

"I know," Newman cut him off, the smile disappearing, "you're worried about your partner. We all go through that. But we've got him covered, Steve. We're not about to let anything happen to him." He met Steve's eyes evenly for a second then looked into the rearview mirror. "So did you notice anybody talking to him or sizing him up or anything?"

Cox shook his head, meeting Newman's eyes in the mirror. "Not while I was there but I know he exchanged a few words with the bartender. Couldn't hear what they said though but I'm sure Mike'll tell us later."

"Do we have anything on the bartender yet, do you know?"

"All I got is his first name is Danny. Maybe Cole can get his last name and we can run him through R&I."

Not knowing who was involved, if anyone, the need for stealth in this operation was paramount and everyone had to be very careful not to let anything slip. Too much curiosity would be like a red flag, so caution and patience were the watchwords.

"Did Mike look like he was getting drunk?" Steve asked, and the other two could hear the worry that was still tempering his voice.

Cox shook his head with a facial shrug. "Not to me," he said, "and the entire time I was in there I only saw him order one drink, so I'm not sure how much he actually _is_ drinking. But he sure is taking his time and allowing those ice cubes to melt," he finished with a chuckle.

Nodding to himself, slightly relieved, Steve turned back in the seat and stared at the entrance to the alley once again.

It was going to be a long night.

# # # # #

Newman yawned and stretched, then rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Reaching up to snap on the overhead, Steve looked at his watch. 10:25. Mike had entered the bar around 5:30. As he turned the light off, the walkie-talkie on the seat between them crackled to life again.

" _He's leaving the bar. He's getting into a cab."_

Both Steve and Newman sat up straighter, the Vice lieutenant picking up the walkie-talkie and thumbing the Talk button. "Let's hope he remembers to get out at the right spot."

" _We'll slip in behind the cab and follow him just in case,"_ the tinny voice of Kyle Jenkins responded with a chuckle.

Less than a minute later a DeSoto cab pulled up to the entrance to the alleyway and stopped. Glancing at each other, Steve and Newman got out of the sedan as the back door of the cab opened and Mike Stone climbed slowly and carefully out onto the sidewalk, turning to slam the door before straightening up, staggering slightly as he watched the taxi drive away.

"We've got him," Newman said into the walkie-talkie, tossing it onto the front seat. As the two detectives approached their colleague, Mike turned almost gingerly. He hair was askew, his tie loose and his collar button undone. The beige raincoat was thrown over one shoulder and he fumbled with the briefcase, dropping it as he looked up at his approaching colleagues, a delighted though lopsided grin lighting his face as his eyes gradually settled on his partner.

"Hey, buddy boy," he said loudly, the words slightly slurred as he opened his arms, "See, I did it!" He chuckled, swaying precariously and Steve took a quick step closer, grabbing his arm.

"Yes, you sure did," the younger man said through a chuckle. "Here, let's get you in the car." He started to pull Mike towards the sedan as Newman picked up the briefcase and followed, trying to muffle his laughter.

Steve opened the back door and Mike crawled onto the seat, flopping against the back heavily and closing his eyes. He waited till the others were in as well and the doors were shut before he said through a grin, "You know, that was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be."

Smiling, Newman turned in the front seat. "Did you get to tell them your life story?"

Opening his eyes, Mike shook his head. "Not yet," he said slowly, "but Danny – he's the bartender," he said to Steve, brow furrowed with a disarming earnestness, "he asked my name so I think tomorrow night we might get a little further along in that regard." With a serious nod, Mike leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes again.

Newman looked at Steve and smiled. "I think we better get him home."

"We're going to my place," Steve said, "fewer stairs and I can keep an eye on him. Union near Montgomery." He stared at his tipsy partner and sighed. "Well, at least he's a happy drunk."

With a nod and a chuckle, Newman started the car. As they pulled out of the alley, gentle snores began to fill the sedan as they turned onto 2nd, heading towards Telegraph Hill.

# # # # #

He opened his eyes slowly, a dull throb in his skull. It took several seconds to remember where he was before he pushed the blanket away and tried to sit up. The room swayed suddenly and he slammed both hands down onto the couch until the dizziness passed. He looked down at himself; he was in his boxers and undershirt.

Trying not to moan, he used the arm of the couch to push himself to his feet, holding on and waiting till the room stopped moving. He thought he could smell coffee and turned carefully in the direction of the kitchen.

Sitting at the small breakfast table, reading the paper, a fully-dressed Steve looked up and smiled. "Well, good morning," he said, a little louder than necessary, the grin getting broader when Mike winced and closed his eyes.

"Must you…" the older man growled, holding onto the doorframe.

"How do you feel?"

"My head is pounding, my stomach is churning and my mouth tastes like the floor of a gym," the older man said slowly, squinting as he tentatively removed his hand from the wall and crossed the short distance to the table. He sat gingerly in the vacant chair as his head turned painfully slowly in the direction of the percolator.

"Is that fresh coffee I smell?" he asked with as much anticipation as he could muster.

"Sure is," Steve said brightly, returning to his perusal of the paper, "the cups are in the cupboard where they usually are. Help yourself." He picked up his own mug and took a big gulp.

Crestfallen, Mike stared at him, unmoving. After several seconds of watching his young partner continue to read and ignore him, Mike sighed and began to stand, closing his eyes once more as the room began to spin.

Steve glanced up and smiled. With a laugh, he tossed the paper on the table and stood. "Sit down, sit down," he said genially as he crossed to the counter, watching the older man slip slowly back onto the chair. "I wouldn't be that cruel." He took a mug out of the upper cupboard and poured, then set it on the table in front of his partner, moving the milk and sugar containers closer. "You want some toast?"

"Yes, please," Mike answered softly as he gingerly picked up the milk jug and began to pour.

Back at the counter, Steve said over his shoulder, "You weren't very talkative after we got home last night." Mike had fallen into a deep sleep almost the second he'd taken off the suit and sat down on the couch.

"Oh?" he muttered as he dumped two large spoonfuls of sugar into the mug. Steve, who had lowered the handle on the toaster and was returning to the table, paused at the unusual sight – Mike always had his coffee black. Chuckling to himself, he sat back down.

"So, ah, what do you remember, if anything…?" he asked tentatively, watching as Mike slowly and quietly stirred the coffee before putting the spoon silently on the table and picking up the mug with both hands. Closing his eyes, he took a large sip, continuing to hold the mug up as he allowed the hot liquid to slide down his throat.

Smiling, Steve picked up a small white bottle that was sitting on the table and slammed it down in front of his hungover partner. Mike's eyes shot open but he managed not to spill the coffee. "Aspirin?" Steve asked quietly, pointing at the pain reliever with a grin.

"Oh, yes, please," Mike said almost too quickly, putting the mug down and reaching for the bottle. After several seconds without success, Steve took it from him.

"Child-proof lid," he explained with a wickedly smug smile as he popped the top off then held it out.

With a peeved glare, Mike extended his hand and Steve tapped two pills into his palm. "Thank you," the older man offered dryly, picking up the mug again and swallowing the aspirin. They both heard the toaster pop and, continuing to chuckle, Steve got up and returned to the counter.

"What do you want on your toast? Peanut butter? Jam? Honey?"

"I don't care," came the mumbled response from the table, "I just need to get something in my stomach."

"How about peanut butter and honey? It always works for me." A bit of sympathy seemed to be seeping into the younger man's tone; even in his sorry state Mike picked up on it and was grateful.

"That sounds good," he said softly, taking another big gulp of coffee then sat quietly, praying for the aspirin to start to work its magic.

Steve crossed back to the table, putting the small plate of toast in front of his partner before slipping into the other chair. Without a word, Mike picked up the top slice and took a bite, chewing slowly, trying not to jar his throbbing head any more than necessary.

"Are you going to be up for going back in tonight?" Steve asked, his tone now serious and concerned.

Mike swallowed then raised his eyes and stared at the younger man, a soft smile playing across his lips. "I don't have much of a choice, do I? This _is_ my operation after all."

Steve leaned forward, his brow furrowing. "It doesn't have to be you, we can bring someone else in –"

"Steve," Mike cut him off, smiling warmly, "don't worry about me. Once those aspirin kick in I'll be fine." He chuckled when the younger man exhaled almost angrily. "Don't forget, I'm not going to be the only one in there tonight. You get to step into the limelight."

# # # # #

The loud roar of the unmuffled engine echoed off the facades of the buildings lining Howard Street as the Harley pulled up in front of Coopers. The young man in the jeans and black leather jacket leaned the bike against the kickstand, running a hand through his tousled hair before crossing the sidewalk to the heavy wooden door.

Far down the street, Lieutenant Gary Newman brought the walkie-talkie to his mouth and pressed the Talk button. "He's in, everybody. Okay, so heads up – they're both inside now. I want everybody to keep their eyes and their ears open. This is when it starts to get serious."


	8. Chapter 8

Steve opened the heavy wooden door, striding into the dimly lit, smoke-filled bar, trying to exude more confidence than he was feeling. Like any first timer, his eyes raked the seen-better-days establishment, taking in the long wooden bar, the small black circular tables and chairs in the centre, and the dark burgundy booths along the right and back walls.

It was just after 6 pm and the place was already more than half-filled and, as far as he could see, the customers were all men, most in business suits. His quick scan hadn't located his partner and he masked his worried frown with a snort as he turned towards the surprisingly ornate L-shaped bar. There were two stools free and he slipped onto one of them, reaching into his leather jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of Marlboro's and a Zippo lighter and tossing them on the bar.

As he tapped a cigarette out of the pack, the bartender approached. "What can I get ya?"

Steve stuck the cigarette in his mouth before looking up. "What've you got on tap?"

"The usual – Coors, Bud, Schlitz, Pabst, Old Milwaukee – name your poison," the tall, well-built young man Steve assumed to be Danny asked, tossing the towel he had been using to wipe down the bar over his shoulder.

Picking up the Zippo and thumbing the lid open, Steve mumbled, "Pabst," then lit the cigarette. As Danny moved away, he put the Zippo on top of the cigarette pack and set them slightly aside, leaning against the bar and pulling a nearby half-filled ashtray closer.

Danny returned, tossing a coaster on the bar before setting down the frosty glass of beer. "Wanna start a tab?"

Steve looked up at him, taking a drag on the cigarette. "Sure, why not. You serve food here?"

Staring at him from under heavy dark brows, the sullen Danny nodded. "I'll get you a menu," he said flatly, moving to the far end of the bar.

Steve watched him go, using the opportunity to look into the mirror behind the bar, trying surreptitiously to scan the room, still looking for his partner. He glanced over as Danny started to return, a one-page paper 'menu' in his hand, and froze. Tucked into the corner of the bar against the wall, a slouching Mike Stone was sitting very still, for all appearances staring morosely at the glass he held in both hands on the bar. Steve knew better; he knew that every fibre of his partner's being was concentrated on the activity swirling around him, and that Mike was very aware of his arrival.

Danny tossed the sheet on the bar in front of him. "I'll be back," he mumbled as he continued down to the other end of the bar and began mixing the drinks and pouring the beers the lone, it seemed, waitress required.

Putting his cigarette in the ashtray, Steve picked up the menu and began to look it over, holding it up slightly so his eyes could slide over the top and he could study his partner a little more closely. Almost simultaneously, Mike's blue eyes snapped up and for a split second met his own, and in the brief contact there was a reassuring exchange of encouragement and alliance.

Softly clearing his throat, Steve re-focused on the menu, trying to find something he hoped he could stomach. He knew he needed something substantial for the exact same reason he had told Mike the day before – it could help him keep his wits about him. And though he figured that nothing would probably happen that night, he wanted to be on full alert at all times. There was just too much at stake.

Danny wandered back to the middle of the bar, depositing a tall glass of beer in front of the man occupying the stool on Steve's right before turning his dark eyes on the bearded newcomer. "Made up your mind?" he asked.

Lowering the menu, Steve looked up. "What's the chili like?" he asked, raising his voice slightly, ostensibly to be heard over the growing din behind him but hoping his partner would hear as well.

The bartender snorted a laugh. "You've probably picked the only thing on the menu that's actually edible. You wanna bowl?"

"Yeah, sure."

As Danny wandered to the end of the bar to place the order, Steve picked the cigarette up, taking the opportunity to shoot another quick look towards his partner. The older man was still staring at the scotch glass in his hands but there was a tiny smile curling his lips.

# # # # #

"Thank god for aspirin," Mike groaned with a laugh as he laid his head back on Steve's couch.

"I didn't think you drank as much last night as you did the night before?" Kyle Jenkins asked as he reached towards the coffee table and picked up a handful of peanuts, popping several into his mouth.

"I didn't," the older man whined.

"But he still managed to get two-and-a-half sheets to the wind," Steve said with a chuckle as he entered from the kitchen with a pot of fresh coffee in his hand and started to fill the mugs on the coffee table.

Newman hung up the kitchen phone and re-entered the living room. "Okay, we're all set for tonight, so everybody can relax for a few hours… and you two can sober up," he laughed as he sat in the armchair and reached for a mug.

"Hey, I'm fine," Steve protested genially as he finished pouring and set the pot down on an oven mitt on the table. "I think it was that chili I ate. Acted like a buffer."

"Yeah, and maybe it also could've been the fact you were in there two hours less than I was," Mike groused good-naturedly, lifting his head slightly from the couch and then dropping it back down, wincing.

With a feigned huff and a narrow-eyed stare, Steve disappeared into the kitchen again with a soft chuckle. Newman turned to Mike. "So, did our friendly bartender get any friendlier last night?"

Slowly opening his eyes, Mike sat up straighter and turned to the Vice lieutenant. "As a matter of fact, he did. The place really quieted down around 10 for some reason, I guess it was just after Steve left, and for awhile I was the only one at the bar."

Steve came back in from the kitchen and dropped a bag of Oreos on the table. The others watched then Mike looked up at him. "Cookies? That's all you've got to offer us. Peanuts and cookies?"

Steve took a step back, hands out in exasperation. "What? Like I haven't been busy? Like I've had time to do any grocery shopping?"

Jenkins and Newman laughed. "It's okay, Steve, this is fine." Jenkins picked up the Oreo bag and opened it, stuffing a cookie in his mouth before offering the bag around.

Mike, now glaring good-naturedly at their befuddled host, reached in for a cookie. "As I was saying," he growled at his now smiling partner, withdrawing an Oreo then turning his attention back to Newman, "the bartender –"

"Danny," Steve offered quickly with a smirk as he took the cookie bag from Jenkins and dropped onto a chair that had been brought in from the kitchen, chuckling.

Mike turned to him briefly with a curt, "Thank you," before resuming his narrative. "- asked me if I was a local and that opened the door, so to speak. He knows all about poor old Archie Richardson now."

"So, was he just being, you know, bartender friendly or was he sussing you out, do you think?"

Mike thought about it for a few seconds. "You know, it was hard to tell. If he was scoping me out for Shanghai-ing purposes, he didn't ask me anything really direct. It was basically ' _What's your name, buddy?'_ and _'What brings you in here?'_ "

"Something I've heard dozens of bartenders say," Newman offered and the other nodded.

"Yeah," Mike agreed, "but I knew I had to make sure he got my life story, so I just started talking and didn't shut up until I got it all out."

"And that's something I've heard a lot of lonely drunks do too," Jenkins added.

"Well, you did what you needed to do, Mike. Good for you." Newman turned to Steve. "What about you?"

"Well, Danny knows my name and he knows I want to unload the Harley, so I guess it's a start. I asked him if he knew of anyone who might be interested in the bike but before I could tell him why I wanted to sell it and what I wanted for it, he got busy and I never got the chance. I made some excuse about having to leave and that I'd give him more details when I came in the next time. I figured that would give me an excuse to go back tonight 'cause I got the feeling that last night wasn't going to be a 'let knock someone out with laudanum and stick 'em on a boat' kinda night."

"What did you drink?" Jenkins asked.

"I started out with a beer then switched over to Scotch."

Newman looked at the two homicide detectives. "Great work, both of you. In two nights you've managed to lay the groundwork."

"Thanks," said Mike, looking rather pleased with himself as he took another big gulp of coffee. "So," he looked at his partner and winked, holding out his mug, "we go back in tonight and see what happens. Right?"

They all raised their coffee cups.

"Right," Steve agreed as they clinked.

# # # # #

The cacophonous sound of excited voices could be heard even before he rounded the corner onto Howard and his confident stride faltered slightly; the noise was coming from Coopers. As he got closer to the entrance, the sandwich board on the sidewalk caught his eye: _SPECIAL!_ _From 6pm to closing – 2 beers for the price of 1!_ He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes; things had just become a lot more complicated and a lot more dangerous.

He pulled open the heavy wooden door, his ears immediately assaulted by the overwhelming din. Pushing through the already almost filled room, he eventually managed to force his way to his favourite corner of the bar. Over the tops of the heads of the patrons on the stools, Mike could see Danny and another young man struggling to keep up with the drink demands.

Exasperated, Mike stood behind the large dark-suited man occupying what he now considered _his_ stool. Eventually Danny came to that end of the bar. "Hey, Archie!" he yelled convivially over the roar then looked at the man on the stool. "Ah, buddy, you're gonna have to move away from the bar!" he yelled.

"What? Why?" the customer shot back.

"Cause that stool belongs to this guy here!" Danny said loudly with a touch of irritation in his voice as he pointed over the beer drinker's shoulder. Turning awkwardly on the stool, the now angry patron glared at Mike, who smiled and nodded politely. The man turned back to the bar to protest but Danny leaned closer to him and growled, "If you leave now not only is your next beer on the house, so's the one after that."

Knowing a good thing when he heard it, the large man nodded quickly, got up and gestured for Mike to take his seat. Dropping the briefcase to the floor before sitting, Mike smiled up at Danny. "Thanks, ah, I appreciate that."

"Hey, no problem," the bartender said with a quick smile. "So, ah, the usual… Scotch Rocks?"

Mike nodded rapidly, as if extremely grateful for the show of loyalty. "Yeah, thanks, Danny, that'd be great."

He glanced over his shoulder at the mushrooming crowd being lured in by the generous special. His heart began to beat a little faster with deepening concern. He knew Steve wasn't due to arrive for at least another hour, and by then the place would be overflowing.

With a growing uneasiness, he nodded gratefully when Danny set the tumbler of Scotch and ice on the bar in front of him. He stared into the amber depths, trying to shake the disturbing apprehension that it was going to be a very long and very difficult night.


	9. Chapter 9

It was after 6, and Coopers was reaping the benefits of its irresistible special offer. The small watering hole was almost at its maximum capacity and, as Mike glanced around surreptitiously from his stool against the wall at the bar, there was still no sign of Steve. He began to worry that if he waited much longer, his partner would be denied entrance that night.

Customers, mostly men - and mostly men of a certain rough demeanor and deficient wherewithal – were crowding the bar at least three deep. The increasing pandemonium as excited, and increasingly drunk, patrons demanded their beers was beginning to get a little out of hand, and the homicide detective could only hope that the authorities wouldn't be called. It would be a rather unfortunate and totally unanticipated premature end to their little operation.

But he also knew that this could be the night; that the two-for-one special was designed specifically to be a smokescreen. And that was what worried him the most.

Still nursing his first scotch, he glanced towards the far end of the bar in time to see his hirsute partner push his way through the throng. Mike took a deep breath, he wasn't sure if in relief or worry, and allowed his gaze to return to the glass in his hands.

Trying to ignore the pushing and shoving around him, and patiently waiting for one of the two overworked bartenders to ask for his order, Steve managed a quick look around the bar, relieved to see his partner in his 'usual' location against the wall. Mike had picked the perfect spot, he conceded; it was almost an oasis of normality amid the chaos swirling all around him.

Danny was at Mike's end of the bar; the back-up bartender finally stopped in front of Steve. "What d'ya want?! We're running out of Bud and Old Mil!" he yelled above the din.

Steve leaned closer so he could be heard. "I want a scotch!"

The bartender's eyes narrowed and he pulled his head back slightly, as if he hadn't heard it right. "A scotch?" he asked skeptically, smirking with a shake of his head as the bearded biker in front of him nodded with raised eyebrows.

"Straight up!"

"Okay, scotch it is…" He turned away, reaching up to grab the bottle of Johnny Walker Black with the measured spout from the shelf above the mirror and deftly poured the amber liquid into the heavy bottomed tumbler that he'd snagged from under the bar.

Steve watched his every move and, as the young blond turned back to him, setting the glass and napkin on the bar, he slapped a five on the beer-stained wooden surface. "Keep the change!" he shouted as he picked up the tumbler and turned, forcing his way through the horde and out of Mike's sight.

The crowd continued to get bigger, though that seemed almost impossible. Mike felt sure The City's Finest would be making an appearance at any second. But the writhing multitude seemed to be behaving, for the time being. He knew Steve would be scanning the crowd, looking for anything unusual. His intention of relaying his tale of woe and need to unload the Harley to Danny would have to wait till tomorrow night at this rate.

But Mike was getting nervous; every instinctive impulse in his body was screaming that tonight would be the night.

# # # # #

In a black van with tinted windows parked two long blocks west on Howard, Kyle Jenkins raised the binoculars to his eyes once again. The foot traffic around Coopers was almost out of control; with Newman's consent, he had already been on the horn to dispatch, letting them know that patrol cars were to stay away from the bar on Howard unless a call came from Coopers itself.

Like everyone else involved in the operation tonight, the sense of impending inevitability was almost overpowering.

They could allow nothing to go wrong; there was just too much at stake.

# # # # #

Empty glass in hand, Steve pushed his way through the throng around the bar, finally able to squeeze in between two large, thoroughly intoxicated patrons. Still handing out beers at an alarming rate, Danny finally looked his direction, his eyebrows rising slightly in surprise.

With a wry smile, Steve slammed the tumbler on the bar. "Gimme another scotch, will ya, Danny?!" he shouted and the bartender nodded, turning to grab the JW.

"A scotch?!" came a loud sarcastic taunt in his ear. "This here's a beer joint – didn'tcha see the sign outside! Two fer one!" The words were slightly slurred and Steve could feel and peripherally see the tall, heavyset, bearded face from which the jeer emanated looming over his shoulder.

Slamming another five down onto the bar, Steve took the glass from Danny's hand with a nod, attempting to back away but the large provocateur blocked his way. He could smell the beer-laden breath on his face as the tried to shove his way past the much larger man.

"What are ya? A pansy?" The bearded giant glared down at him, taking a small step forward, pushing the cop back against the bar. Steve stumbled slightly, trying not to drop the glass. He caught his balance then waited a beat, gathering his wits about him before he looked up slowly, his eyes narrowing, and glared into the glassy brown eyes that stared down at him.

"Let me by," he said quietly and watched as the belligerent giant blinked uncomprehendingly, his mouth hanging open. Steve pulled himself to his full height and leaned into the other man. "I said, let me by," he repeated, this time with a growl, his eyes growing slightly wider in foolhardy defiance.

The bigger man stared at him for a long beat, then he tilted his head back slightly and a deep belly laugh began to emerge from his still open mouth. He took half a step backwards then stopped and dropped his head, the laughter dying abruptly as he snarled, "You ain't goin' nowhere, you little pansy."

# # # # #

From the other end of the bar, Mike was watching all of this unfold from under a lowered brow, knowing that if anything happened, he was going to be powerless to stop it. He saw Steve glaring up at the massive drunk that was confronting him and he closed his eyes in a silent prayer that Steve wouldn't step over the line.

His eyes flew open at the roar that emanated from the other end of the bar in time to see his partner's body jerked forward as if by some unseen force and disappear into the crush of drunken revelers. Suddenly fists were flying, bodies were falling, furniture was being tossed around, and shouts, moans of pain and the unmistakable sound of flesh connecting with flesh filled the room.

Mike slumped against the wall on his left, trying to remain invisible as the scuffle that had begun between his partner and the drunken giant escalated rapidly.

# # # # #

Steve was unprepared for the swiftness of the intoxicated behemoth he was foolishly confronting. A large hand grabbed the front of his leather jacket and yanked him forward, off his feet, and the glass slipped from his hand. He felt the scotch splash onto his jeans before the tumbler hit the floor; a split second later, a beefy fist slammed into his stomach.

He doubled over, the breath leaving his body in a pain-filled gasp, then he was pulled upright once more, his suddenly tear-filled eyes glimpsing the mirthless grin of his attacker as a second punch caught him in the left ribs and he felt himself falling.

He hit the floor hard, gasping for air, his entire chest in agony. As quickly as he could, he curled himself into a foetal position, trying to protect his head and injured ribs from the feet that were stamping and kicking all around him as others joined in the fight.

The belligerant giant was being held back by two brave patrons who had witnessed the altercation but he shook them off and took a step towards the man on the floor. Before he could be restrained again, he aimed a kick in Steve's direction; the cop saw it coming and braced himself but the heavy boot caught him on the side of the head and white-hot pain shot through his brain as he struggled not to lose consciousness.

It was then that all hell broke loose.

# # # # #

Holding his breath, his heart in his mouth, Mike could see the thrashing heap but he couldn't see his partner. Danny and two other large men, who seemed to materialize from nowhere but who Mike soon realized were bouncers, had joined the fray and between them managed to restrain the drunken giant, pinning him against the bar. But not before many more blows had rained down on anyone within reach.

They slammed the huge man's head onto the bar, pinning his arms behind his back. The two bouncers held him in place as Danny reached down and helped Steve to his feet. Even from where he was sitting, Mike could see the blood coursing down his partner's face and the hunched, agony-ridden posture.

Closing his eyes, Mike bit his lip in frustration and helplessness. There was nothing he could do, but that knowledge did little to assuage the nearly paralyzing guilt.

# # # # #

Danny gently put his hand on Steve's chin and raised his head, staring at the open gash dripping blood above the right eyebrow. The injured man pulled away angrily. "I'm okay," he growled then winced in discomfort.

"Like hell you are," the bartender said with a surprising touch of sympathy in his voice. "I'm gonna call an ambulance."

"No!" Steve almost yelled then gasped from the pain the exertion caused. He was only too well aware that the presence of any authority would effectively put an end to their undercover operation for tonight and probably well into the near future. He couldn't allow that to happen. "No, I'm okay…" He inhaled carefully and tried to smile with some degree of reassurance. "I just want to get out of here."

"You sure?" Danny's concern seemed sincere and Steve managed a small smile.

He nodded carefully. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure. Thanks." Trying to stand a little straighter, Steve shot a glance back towards his attacker, still pinned against the bar, and shook his head in anger. He was tempted to try to sneak a glimpse at his partner but knew it was too dangerous. He had to get out of the bar so things could return to some semblance of normal.

"I don't think you're gonna be able to ride that bike!" Danny called after him as Steve started to limp away, trying not to jar his injured ribs.

Nodding, Steve forced his way through the crowd, most of whom backed away to give him room. He finally made it to the door, gasping for breath, and leaned against the doorframe trying to get the pain under control before he pushed himself upright and started to stagger down the block. The Harley was parked in the middle of the next block; he seriously didn't think he was going to make it that far.

Thirsty potential patrons, unable to get into the already packed bar, watched his slow and painful progress down the sidewalk with studied indifference. He hoped he could get to the Harley before he passed out; he knew he couldn't get to the van, but somehow he needed to alert his backup that all was not going according to plan.

# # # # #

The excitement in Coopers had settled down somewhat, the bouncers having strong-armed the antagonist out the back door and sent him packing. Danny made it back behind the bar and was once again filling drink orders.

He was working his way to the far end of the bar, delivering a handful of beers, when his eyes briefly settled on the obviously distressed man in the corner. He studied the down-turned head then went back to the middle of the bar, returning about a minute later with fresh tumbler of Scotch and ice, setting it down with a thud.

When the wide blue eyes looked up at him from behind the gold-rimmed glasses, he smiled. "Sorry about all that, Archie. This one's on the house." He nodded towards the fresh glass.

Nodding his thanks, swallowing heavily and unable to find his voice, or so it seemed, Mike managed a slight smile. He hoped his look was conveying fear and alarm over what had just transpired; and he also hoped it was masking the overwhelming worry for his partner.

# # # # #

It was getting harder and harder to stay on his feet; every step brought a jarring agony. His arms were wrapped around his lower chest, but it wasn't helping, and he kept having to wipe the blood from his right eye. He knew he must look a sight to everyone he passed on the dark street, like a chilling apparition of Terry Malloy from the final scene in "On The Waterfront".

But there was only one thing on his mind: he had to get to Jenkins, he had to let them all know what was going on in the bar. Mike was alone in there now, he thought, and that couldn't be allowed to continue.

He blinked rapidly several times, trying to clear his vision, and raised his right hand to wipe the blood from his eye again. He wasn't sure how far he had gone. He stumbled across Russ Street; he thought he could see the Harley angled into the curb further down the block but he couldn't be sure. His head was pounding and black spots were beginning to obscure his vision.

He didn't hear the footsteps that came quickly up behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

The shadowy figure materialized suddenly behind the stumbling detective, easing up to match the slow but steady progress the injured man was making. Not wanting to startle the seemingly oblivious young cop, the newcomer said quietly, "Steve, it's me, it's Bobby Cox."

Steve hesitated slightly, as if not sure what he'd heard, but continued to limp down the sidewalk.

"Steve, it's Bobby, let me give you a hand, man," Cox repeated, reaching out to gently grab the younger man's arm, trying to slow him down. Finally stopping, Steve turned to look at his dark-haired, bearded colleague. "I was in there, Steve, I know what happened. But I was caught in the back and I couldn't get to you.

Steve struggled to focus. He inhaled carefully. "You weren't supposed to, Bobby. You'da blown your cover. Don't worry about it, man." His words were slurred but his eyes were bright, almost desperate. "Mike –" He pulled out of Cox's grip and took a step, grimacing in pain.

"Don't worry about Mike," Cox reassured quickly. "We've got two more guys in there; we'll keep an eye on him."

"I didn't see –" Steve began, shaking his head, staggering unsteadily.

Cox grabbed his arm again, providing much needed support. "'Cause you don't know either of them," he said quickly. "Come on, we gotta get you to a doctor."

"No – no, Bobby, I gotta talk to Kyle… now, please…" His tone was so desperate the older officer hesitated then nodded.

"Okay… okay… come on, let me give you a hand." Having noticed which side Steve was favouring, Cox moved around to his left, slipping an arm around his waist for support. "Don't worry about Mike, okay?" he reassured again as they slowly made their way down the block, Steve's breaths coming in pain-laced gasps. Cox looked at him worriedly.

The Harley came into view and Steve started to slow down. Cox shook his head. "No way, man, you can't get on that. You can barely breathe. Look, I have an idea." He led Steve close to the bike and helped him to sit on it. "You stay here," he said as he released his hold on the injured detective and took a step back, "and I'll go on ahead to the van and get Kyle to drive up here and get you. We're far enough away from Coopers that nobody'll see us."

Steve started to shake his head, trying to get back onto his feet. "No…. no… we're too close…" He gasped, sitting back down on the bike and squeezing his eyes tight.

"You can't go any further," Cox said quickly, "stay here!" He took off down the block at a fast jog.

Both arms wrapped around his chest, Steve doubled over. He was nauseous and thought he was going to throw up, terrified that if he did so the pain would be so intense he would lose consciousness.

He couldn't afford to pass out; Mike needed him. He'd made a mistake, he knew, standing up to the drunken bully; he had pushed his luck and lost. And now their carefully planned operation was in jeopardy and he had left his partner alone in a very serious, and potentially deadly, situation.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to sit up a little straighter, swallowing the bile that rose in the back of his throat, leaving behind a burning sensation and a bitter taste on his tongue. He was still fighting to remain conscious when the black van slipped quietly alongside the Harley and stopped.

The side door opened and Cox got out, crossing around the bike to the sidewalk. "Can you stand?" he asked Steve and received a quick nod in return as the younger man tried again to get to his feet. Cox carefully slipped am arm around Steve's waist and helped him to the van.

Safely on the carpeted floor inside the almost empty cargo bay, Steve curled onto his left side on the rough carpet, as Cox got in beside him and pulled the door closed. The van took off, turning several corners before eventually pulling to a stop under a streetlamp.

Kyle Jenkins snapped on the dome light and turned in the seat. "Jesus, Steve, are you okay?"

Cox helped their injured colleague sit up as best he could. Steve tried to smile through a soft ironic chuckle. "Not really…" he almost whispered.

"Bobby told me what happened," Jenkins shook his head in frustration, his concerned stare snapping from one of his colleagues to the other. "What did you do to set him off?"

Steve managed a snort of derision. "I ordered a scotch…" he said through teeth clenched in pain, as if it was an explanation.

Jenkins stared at him almost uncomprehendingly for a long beat then shook his head again, glancing at Cox. "We'll talk about this later. Right now Bobby's gonna drive you to the hospital –"

"No!" Steve almost shouted, cutting the lieutenant off. "No… Kyle… I'm not going anywhere. Mike –"

"We've got him covered, Steve, he's not in there alone. And you're in no condition to do anything to help even if he wasn't, right?"

"I'm not… going anywhere…" Steve protested again, trying to get to his knees.

"Yeah, you are, you're going to the hospital, Inspector," Jenkins said again, his voice taking on an authoritative edge. "Do I have to make it an order, Inspector?"

Steve froze as their eyes locked, holding his breath. Then his body sagged and he dropped his eyes. Jenkins features softened in sympathy.

"Good. Thank you. Besides, whose ass do you think would be in a sling if Mike knew I didn't force you to see a doctor after we found you looking like this?" His gentle chuckle took the sting out of the uncomfortable confrontation, and Steve nodded in reluctant understanding.

Jenkins looked at Cox again and they both nodded then he picked up the walkie-talkie from the floor beside him and thumbed the Talk button.

As Jenkins called for another unmarked car to join them, Cox looked at Steve, who was trying to sit up even more. "Take it easy, Steve. Kyle's right. You're no use to Mike like this. Let me get you to a hospital and get you patched up and then we'll come right back, I promise."

# # # # #

The noise level in Coopers had once again risen to the same ear-shattering decibel level it had attained before the brouhaha had momentarily interrupted the drunken revelry. At the back of the room, Missing Persons Sergeant Dave Collyer was trying to scan the crowd overtop of all the heads but wasn't having much luck.

During the fracas he had been shoved out of the way and when things had quieted down had found himself near the overflowing booths at the back. He wanted to be nearer the bar, to keep an eye on the Homicide lieutenant, and he was attempting to work his way through the tight throng without much success.

For a split second he thought he caught a glimpse of the battered green John Deere cap that he knew Robbery Inspector Shaun Jacobs always sported, but he couldn't be sure. He hoped he wasn't the only one in Coopers at the moment.

He was sure he'd seen Bobby Cox leave the bar about a minute after Steve Keller had dragged himself out the door, obviously in great pain. He knew Cox felt as guilty as he did that they had been unable to come to their colleague's assistance, but they also knew that they couldn't or their covers would be blown. And being chewed out by all the lieutenants involved in this operation was not something any of them wanted to experience.

Collyer had managed to push his way closer to the bar. As he stood on tiptoe and leaned as far forward as he could, yelling at the bartender for another two Schlitzs, he snapped a quick glance at the end of the bar and managed to mask his relieved sigh.

Mike Stone was still on the stool, still nursing a glass of scotch.

# # # # #

It was close to midnight when the side and passenger doors of the black van opened simultaneously, briefly startling the Vice lieutenant behind the wheel whose attention was riveted down the street in front of him.

"Jesus, don't you guys knock!" he groused good-naturedly, his eyebrows rising rapidly in surprise as a stiff and slow-moving Steve Keller climbed gingerly into the passenger seat, trying almost successfully to smile his salutation. His face had been cleaned up and there was now a white bandage over his right eyebrow. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Bobby Cox slammed the passenger door after Steve got into the seat and climbed into the back of the van, closing the side door behind him. He nodded towards the injured inspector. "They wanted to keep him overnight but he refused, so they made me promise to take him home." He glared at the back of Steve's head. "This is home," he enunciated pointedly.

"Steve –" Jenkins began but the younger man shook his head.

"Kyle," he said as firmly as he could, "they taped me up and stitched my forehead and I'm up to my eyeballs in Tylenol. I'm not going home… not while Mike is still in there."

"You can't be serious –"

"Look, Kyle, once Mike is outa there, you can take us both to my place and I'll stay there, I promise… But not before." He was staring at the Vice lieutenant who, even in the dim streetlight reflecting through the windshield, could see the desperation in the young man's eyes.

Jenkins took a deep breath. "All right," he agreed reluctantly and both he and Cox could see the Homicide inspector relax and turn his attention to the street in front of the van.

"What's been going on? Any word on Mike?" he asked, nodding in the direction of Coopers with his chin, keeping both arms wrapped protectively around his chest.

"Well, our two guys are still in there. If there was a problem, one of them would have high-tailed it down here and let us know, so no news is good news in this case."

"Has the place started emptying out yet?" Cox asked from over their shoulders as all three stared through the windshield.

"Not that I've seen yet," Jenkins said, bringing the binoculars back up to his eyes.

# # # # #

"Hey, gents, we've run outa beer!" Danny had hoisted himself up onto the bar and was trying to be heard over the cacophonous din. "So finish up what ya got and get yer asses out of here!" he laughed as he jumped into the back bar, picking up the damp towel and beginning to wipe down the counter once again.

At the back of the room, Collyer made discreet eye contact with Jacobs, who was finishing off a Pabst several crowded feet away, and the young inspector began what he knew would be a slow trek to the door. Though it was still a couple of hours till closing, they didn't want to be seen leaving together, or in close proximity to Mike.

Jacobs' route to the exit was circuitous at best. He wanted to sneak one more look at the Homicide lieutenant before he left so he could report back to Jenkins and Newman on the status inside Coopers.

As the night wore on, it had gotten harder and harder to push through the increasingly drunk clientele, and Jacobs progress to the bar was painfully slow. He finally managed to squeeze past two belligerent drunks who didn't want to move when he finally found himself at the end of the bar nearest the door.

Pretending to be offended by the shove he'd received as he bulled his way through, he looked over his shoulder towards the far end of the bar and the stool tucked into the corner against the wall.

It was empty.


	11. Chapter 11

Jacobs' heart leapt into his throat. He forced himself to remain outwardly impassive as the blood began to pound in his ears. Pushing himself away from the bar, he started back into the room, looking for Collyer, shoving people out of the way.

The sergeant hadn't moved, his penetrating yet outwardly nonchalant gaze sweeping the room, eventually coming to rest on Jacobs. The inspector's eyes widened and he cocked his head quickly in the direction of the far end of the bar, then closed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. Collyer's face fell and he froze momentarily; he knew exactly what Jacobs was telling him.

Nodding towards the bathrooms on his right, Collyer began to push his way through the crowd, needing to get to the bar and see for himself. Jacobs continued his slog towards the bathrooms, even though in his heart he knew the lieutenant wouldn't be there.

Collyer finally managed to work his way around to the far end of the bar. The crowd was still three deep and he was having trouble seeing through the throng to those now occupying the stools. Finally breaking through, his heart leapt briefly when he saw a figure on the stool closest to the wall, only to sink again when he realized the new occupant wasn't Mike.

"Shit," he mumbled under his breath, quickly scanning the faces around him. He turned back towards the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Homicide lieutenant making his way to the exit. But all he could see were the slack, flushed faces of Coopers' drunken revelers.

He spotted the John Deere cap making its way through the crowd towards him again and moved closer. Their eyes met and Jacobs shook his head slightly, eyes wide. Collyer exhaled sharply and glanced up in frustration, then made eye contact with his colleague once more, gesturing casually with his head in the direction of the front door. Jacobs nodded subtly, turning and working his way back into the crowd, his eyes raking the room as best he could as Collyer started towards the exit.

# # # # #

"There's a lot more activity on the street, I think they're starting to toss people out," Jenkins announced to the others, the binoculars to his eyes.

Kneeling between the seats, Cox turned his wrist to see his watch in the streetlight bleeding through the windshield. "They don't close for another couple of hours – they must've run out of beer."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Jenkins offered with a short laugh. "If we didn't have this operation going on we'da shut the place down hours ago." He glanced towards the passenger seat. "How are you doing?"

Steve managed to turn his head in the lieutenant's direction. "I'm okay. The Tylenols kicked in," he said slowly and carefully, one arm still around his chest. He was having a hard time finding the least painful sitting position but he was determined to stay until his partner was by his side; only then would he consent to going home.

"Well, we're gonna have to have a little talk later about what happened in there, you understand? You've left your partner out to dry, you realize that, right?" Jenkins didn't want to add to the young man's guilt but he had to exercise his command authority.

Steve took as deep a breath as he dared, closing his eyes and nodding. "Yes, sir," he replied quietly.

Jenkins raised the binoculars. "What the hell… ?" he began and the others stiffened to full alert. A dark figure, silhouetted against the streetlight, was briskly jogging up the street towards them. "I think that's Dave…"

Cox crawled over to open the side door of the van as a breathless Collyer slid to stop on the sidewalk. "We can't find him," he said quickly, gasping for air, his hands on his hips. "Mike… he's gone…"

The passenger door shot open. "What do you mean he's gone?" Steve demanded as he turned as fast as he could on the seat, trying not to moan in pain.

Collyer looked at him first in surprise then guilt. "He just, ah, we were checking on him as best we could – you know how crowded it is in there – and then he just… disappeared. Shaun checked the bathrooms," he dropped his head, shaking it in frustration and regret. "We can't find him," he finished softly.

"Okay, okay," Jenkins said decisively from the driver's seat, "we move into Phase Two, right? We knew this might happen. Dave, you stay here. Bobby, you get back in there and I want you and Jacobs to suss the place out completely, see if there's anything you missed but, for god's sake, don't tip your hand. If they have Mike I want them to think that nobody else knows so they do everything just the way they would normally do it."

Cox nodded, hopping out of the van and starting down the street at a brisk walk. Jenkins picked up the walkie-talkie. "Gord?"

" _Yeah?"_

"We can't find Mike. Anything happening in the alley?"

Gord Downie was slumped down in the front seat of a nondescript brown sedan at the end of the alley behind Coopers. He had been there all night. He sat up a little straighter and raised his binoculars. _"No, it's been quiet. They threw some big guy out about three hours ago and they've taken out some garbage but nothing else."_

"Okay, keep sharp."

" _You got it!"_

Collyer had crawled into the back of the van and was kneeling between Jenkins and Steve. The walkie-talkie crackled to life again. It was Gary Newman.

" _Kyle, I heard. Is Dave with you?"_

"Yeah. Shaun's still inside and I just sent Bobby back down there."

" _Okay, get Dave back down to Coopers as well and have him hang around the front while it empties out. Keep Shaun and Bobby inside if you can. I'm gonna get on the horn to the Coast Guard and get them standing by. I want you to get in touch with Olsen and Condon and let them know what's going on and that we're going to need more back-up."_

"You got it."

Collyer was already getting out of the van, avoiding eye contact with the anxious young man in the passenger seat as he started back towards Coopers.

The Coast Guard had been in the loop well before this operation had actually gone into execution. Brainstorming sessions had led to the hypothesis that any boat leaving San Francisco with abductees on board would most likely be a fishing trawler. Their size alone, and with the added feature of the somewhat spacious cargo hold, made them the likely choice; and with the number of boats in the fleet, finding the odd one out would be a challenge.

Steve glared at Jenkins as he lowered the walkie-talkie and turned to him.

"I've got to use that payphone back on the corner," the lieutenant explained, not even attempting to mask the worry in his voice. " _You_ are to stay here, do you understand me? You are in no condition to do anything anyway, and if you think going back to the bar will help Mike, you're wrong. If you show up there now they'll know something's up. And I know you don't want to be responsible for getting your partner killed, now do you?"

Jenkins opened the door and started to exit. "If I get back here and you're gone, I'll have your badge. And you can count on that." He got out of the van and shut the door behind him with a resonant thud, starting across the street at a brisk jog.

Seething with anger and worry, Steve put his right hand on the handle and pulled. The door was halfway open when he stopped, Jenkins words washing over him again. With a frustrated sigh, he slammed the door closed and sank back onto the seat, wincing in pain.

# # # # #

Jacobs had worked his way to the far side of the bar and gotten fairly close to the stool Mike had been occupying. He was trying very hard to make his journey seem casual and was pretty sure he had succeeded. It had taken awhile, but now he was finally behind the little grey-haired haired man who had both hands wrapped around a bottle of beer, obviously grateful to have finally gotten a seat.

Jacobs leaned past the little man and waited to get a bartender's attention. When Danny finally made his way over, he ordered a shot of whiskey. He tossed a few bills on the counter as Danny moved away to pour it, glancing at the man beside him and taking off his ball cap. When the bartender returned, he nodded his thanks, threw back the shot and stepped away from the bar.

Dropping the hat, he bent down, using the movement to glance towards the stool where Mike had been sitting. Pushed against the dark wood front facing of the bar, almost unseen, was the briefcase the lieutenant had been carrying as part of his disguise.

Jacobs briefly closed his eyes before straightening up with the cap in his hand. Any doubt that Mike's disappearance was not of his own accord had vanished with that one discovery.

# # # # #

Steve glanced at his watch, squinting to make out the face in the dim light. 2:53. He glanced at Jenkins then through the windshield again.

The walkie-talkie crackled to life. _"Kyle, it's Gord."_

"Go ahead, Gord."

" _The bartender just brought the last of the garbage out to the dumpster and locked the back door. He got into his car out on the street here and just drove away, alone."_

"Thanks, Gord. Listen, ah, wait there, will ya? I want someone on that door all night so I'm gonna send Benny over to spell ya. Sit tight."

" _You got it, thanks."_

Jenkins looked at Steve but neither said anything. There was a soft rap on the side panel and back door opened. Bobby Cox and Shaun Jacobs crawled into the cargo bay.

"They just locked up – everybody's gone. Dave's still there, across the street in a doorway. Nobody can see him," Cox relayed with a heavy sigh. "Anything from Gord?"

Jenkins shook his head. "The bartender just locked the back door and drove off… alone. There's no sign of Mike." He glanced at Steve. "Listen, ah, is there anyway he could have left by the front door without any of you guys seeing him?"

Cox and Jacobs shook their heads. "No, sir," Jacobs said, "between the three of us, we had that door covered. We may not have been able to get there in time to stop it, but one of us would've seen it."

"Then how the hell did they get him off the stool and out of sight without any of you guys seeing it. _Somebody_ screwed up!" Steve growled with barely contained fury, pain, guilt and worry getting the better of him.

The other three stared at him silently for several beats, Cox and Jacobs taking furtive glances at Jenkins, who was glaring almost coldly at the Homicide inspector. The uncomfortable silence inside the van lengthened; eventually Steve squirmed slightly and dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered almost fiercely.

"You think maybe the, ah, the _altercation_ you got into might not have helped the situation?" Jenkins asked pointedly, keeping his eyes on his young colleague. He watched as Mike's partner closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Look," he continued, his voice softening, "I know you're worried, we all are. But we can't start blaming each other for what's happened, now can we? We have a job to do. We have to get Mike - and perhaps a bunch of other guys - back and we have to keep our wits about us to do it." He paused, watching Steve's downturned head, knowing his words were hitting their mark. "So can I count on you, or do I send you home? And believe me, I will."


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing - and so quickly! Your loyalty is very humbling!**

The electricity could be felt in the air inside the nondescript black van as everyone waited for the Homicide inspector to respond to the not-so-veiled threat from the Vice lieutenant. Steve was staring at the floor, breathing heavily through his nose, trying to stop the trembling, both from the pain and from the anger, worry and guilt.

Eventually a heavy sigh filled the small, enclosed space and Steve's rigid shoulders began to sag. "I'm sorry," he said softly again, "I, ah, I want to stay."

Everyone relaxed, exchanging relieved glances. Bobby Cox leaned towards his younger colleague, putting a hand lightly on his forearm. "Just so you know, Steve, Mike was still there after you left. I saw him."

Steve looked up, meeting Cox's eyes, and nodded gratefully.

"Okay," Jenkins said loudly, shattering the tense mood and getting back to business but not before shooting a glance at the Homicide inspector and smiling encouragingly, "well, let's figure out what we know, what we don't know, and what we think we know." He held up his right index finger. "First - we know Mike is nowhere to be found but if they do have him, where is he?"

"Yeah," Cox nodded, "if they got him out of the building, how? We didn't see him inside and nobody outside saw anything suspicious."

"So, what?" asked Jacobs. "He's still inside? They have him tied up in the basement or somewhere?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably and Jenkins glanced once more in his direction.

"I know what everyone's thinking," Jenkins said quickly, "but we can't go in there, and I don't just mean that we can't get a warrant. With the info we have right now we could get a warrant in two seconds with no problem, but that would blow this whole operation right out of the water. And if they've already nabbed some others and have them stashed here or someplace else, their lives would be forfeit as well. And besides, we're not even sure Mike's still in there."

A strained silence filled the van. Everyone knew what they had to do next and nobody was happy about it.

"So," Jenkins continued slowly, exhaling loudly, "we wait. That's all we can do for now." He avoided looking at the Homicide inspector, who he could feel staring at him. "We're gonna keep people on Coopers all night, and the Coast Guard are on standby. But there's nothing for them to do tonight either. The fleet's already out and has been for hours so we're pretty sure nobody's gonna be moved tonight. At the very earliest it'll be tomorrow night and we'll be ready. Or as ready as we can be."

The headlights of a car pulled up behind the van and they heard a car door open and close. There was a soft rap on the side door and Jacobs leaned over to open it. Lieutenant Gary Newman curtly nodded a greeting, quickly taking in the four men in the van, his sympathetic gaze lingering slightly on the Homicide inspector.

"Fellas, I take it that Kyle has filled you in on what we need to do for the rest of the night?" he asked, briefly making eye contact with all four. They nodded. "Okay, good, well then the best thing we can all do for Mike right now is to get some sleep," he said, smiling grimly at Steve.

"I'm not going anywhere –" Mike's partner began and Newman chuckled at the inadvertent insubordination.

"Mike told me you could be a handful sometimes, but that's why he likes you so much. Steve, you can't do anything for him right now even if you were a hundred percent. And Kyle and I aren't asking you… or ordering you… off this operation, we wouldn't think of it. But we don't want anything to happen to you either, okay?" He glanced at Jenkins and they shared an empathic headshake.

"Steve," Jenkins took over, "we understand what you're going through, believe me. And we want to find Mike just as badly as you do, but we also want to make sure that, if Mike's press gang theory is right, we don't blow this and we bring these guys down. Am I right?"

Steve took a deep breath then nodded. "Yeah…" he agreed almost breathlessly.

"Good," Jenkins said with a smile and he looked at Newman.

"Okay, fellas, it's after three. This place opens at noon and we're gonna be back here, but we've got guys standing vigil all night long, front and back. Nobody's gonna get in or out without us finding out," Newman began. "I want you four to get your asses home and get as much sleep as you can," he looked pointedly at Steve, "and we'll meet up again in Homicide at 8 am for another brainstorming powwow.

"Now I've already cleared it with Olsen and Condon and we're getting more guys tomorrow, including some of your colleagues, Steve, so we'll bring them up to speed and we'll lay out our plan, which Kyle and I are gonna fine-tune tonight. The Coast Guard guys'll be there tomorrow too."

He took a deep breath and made eye contact with all of them once more. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but everyone did the best they could tonight. And as bad as it seems to us right now, this is _exactly_ what we wanted to happen." He paused and took a deep breath. "It seems Mike was right, wasn't he?" he asked quietly, staring at Steve, a wistful smile playing at his lips.

The younger cop stared back then his features softened slightly and he managed his own brief smile and nod.

"Unfortunately, we were at a disadvantage going in with that little 2-for-1 crap they pulled tonight – these are not stupid people we're going up against and I think we all know that now. And remember, Mike might not be the only guy who disappeared tonight – we have no way of knowing.

"And I know you're kicking yourself for what happened, Steve, but I have a feeling it couldn't be helped. And I'll look forward to your explanation when we have more time to dissect everything that went on tonight. But right now we all need some time to regroup because we need to be as sharp as we can tomorrow, right?"

"Right," Jacobs agreed; Steve and Bobby Cox just nodded.

"Listen, ah, Lieutenant," Cox said to Newman, "I can drive Steve home if that's okay. I think I live pretty close to him." He glanced at his Homicide counterpart and received a confirming and appreciative nod in return.

"Okay, then, everybody meets up again in Homicide at 8 a.m. and we'll take it from there." As he backed away from the van and started towards his car, Newman yelled over his shoulder, "And get some sleep – I want everybody at the top of their game!"

# # # # #

Steve turned to close his front door and carefully tossed the keys on the small nearby table, trying not to move too quickly. The Tylenol was wearing off and every move was becoming sheer agony.

He didn't want to sleep but he knew that he needed to, not only for himself but for Mike. And he wanted, and needed, to be there when they got him back. _If_ they got him back….

He carefully took off the leather jacket then sat gingerly on the couch, breathing in short shallow gasps in an effort to control the growing pain. He took the bottle of Tylenol out of the jacket pocket with the realization he had to get up in order to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He debated very briefly whether he actually needed the painkillers or not then, with a tiny moan of frustration, pushed himself slowly to his feet and crossed the short distance to the kitchen.

He was filling a glass when he felt them, the hot tears coursing down his cheeks. Turning off the tap, he put the glass down and leaned against the counter, his head lowered, trying to draw in air with long deep breaths.

Things had been out of their control from the very start tonight, he knew; from the moment he stepped into Coopers he had felt it. But he had stayed 'on script' as they say; he had ordered scotch instead of beer and, when the drunken giant had taken exception to his drink of choice, had taken him on.

In hindsight a miscalculation, he acknowledged now, but at the time, he felt if he backed down, appearing cowardly, he would be overlooked, dismissed as a wimp and not suitable material to be Shanghai'd.

But they _had_ picked the milquetoast, the imposing physical stature but shrinking violet personality of Archie Richardson. And so they had targeted his partner, possibly from the start but it was impossible to know at the moment.

Finally downing the pills, he slowly climbed the steps to his bedroom, easing himself down onto the bed. He didn't have the energy, or inclination, to shed the jeans and shirt. He would sleep, if he could, in his clothes tonight.

He stared at the ceiling in the dark. Any other night, he realized, it would never have crossed his mind, but tonight it was all he could think of; here he was, safe and secure in his own home. On any other night, he knew, Mike would be as well, in that old, comfortable house on De Haro; the house that was dark and empty tonight.

Where was he? How was he? Was he even still alive? The image of their unnamed floater flashed through his mind and he caught his breath, biting his lip.

It was going to be a very long night.

# # # # #

It was a few minutes before 8 when he opened the door to Homicide and walked slowly into the room, Bobby Cox on his heels. Unable to drive, the undercover cop had picked him up that morning, continuing the tacit agreement that Cox would be with him all day.

Every eye in the bullpen turned in his direction, all of them sympathetic. Jenkins and Newman had already unofficially briefed those assembled about the events of the previous night. The atmosphere of anger, worry and determination in the room was unmistakable.

Steve nodded a truncated greeting to his Homicide colleagues, who gravitated towards him slowly as Newman started to bring everyone up to speed. All the cops in the room knew each other for the most part so he introduced Captain Hastings and Commander Williams of the Coast Guard Station Fort Point to the group as a whole.

Steve leaned carefully against his desk, keeping his left arm close to his side. Between the cracked ribs and the bruised stomach muscles, every movement was wracked with pain. His head still throbbed and his right eye was turning black.

He'd gotten less than three hours sleep, unable to get his mind to empty, and he knew he was going to have a hard time concentrating. But knowing the minutiae of the upcoming operation was unnecessary as he wasn't going to be allowed to participate. If he was spotted in either of the areas they had under close surveillance – Coopers and the pier – he could jeopardize everything, even his partner's life. And he was not about to do that.

But as he listened to the Coast Guard captain explain their strategy for the coming day, he began to realize just how huge this investigation had become. The Coast Guard had only so many boats, and it was a big ocean, even that close to The City. The fishing fleet was large, and they traveled great distances, and there were too many ocean-going ships just beyond the twelve-mile limit to keep track of. If Mike were really and truly gone, finding him might be like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of the Pacific.


	13. Chapter 13

The walkie-talkie on the seat beside him crackled. Jenkins picked it up and thumbed the talk button once, then glanced across the front seat at Xavier Gomez. "You're up, Cuggy."

The middle-aged Hispanic Robbery sergeant chuckled dryly as he settled his Giants cap a little tighter on his head, nodded once and got out of the burgundy Galaxie parked on Folsom near 8th.

Jenkins dropped the talkie back on the seat then ran his hand over his jaw. It was turning into a frustrating day. They had received nothing during the night from the two spotters covering Coopers, one watching the front, the other the back alley; and their first two plants of the day, after the drinking establishment opened, were equally non-productive.

As he watched Gomez head down the street towards the bar, he picked up the talkie again and switched channels. "Gary?"

" _Yeah. What, you got something?"_

"No no, I was just wondering the same at your end."

" _Nope, sorry, not a thing."_

"Okay, later."

Newman was over near pier 41 in the black van. Realizing that some members of the Coast Guard might be more savvy about The City's fishing fleet, he had requested, and received, permission to have several ensigns and a couple of lieutenants, all in mufti, taking turns making the rounds of the fishing piers, ostensibly as civilians and tourists interested in the boats and the equipment. But so far they had noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

In a similar vein, the two SFPD officers posing as homeless itinerants, and who had spent the night on the pier in sleeping bags, reported nothing out of the ordinary. No trucks or cars had driven up to any of the long and crowded fishing piers, and no boats were spotted entering the wharf area either during the long, cold night.

Everyone was at a loss as to what was actually happening; was there really a Shanghai gang operating in San Francisco in 1975, or could the disappearance of Mike Stone be attributed to something else altogether?

But if it was something else, what could it possibly be?

# # # # #

It had been a long, exasperating day of waiting. Not being allowed anywhere near the two places of interest, the bar and the pier, Steve spent the first hour after the team meeting bringing Captain Olsen and Deputy Chief Condon up to speed, from his perspective. Then Bobby Cox drove him over to USCG Station Fort Point before leaving to join in the surveillance of the pier.

The fleet would start heading out around 4 pm, but until then, unless something broke at Coopers, there was nothing much he, or anyone, could do… except worry and keep the faith.

Commander Williams had taken pity on the young SFPD cop and brought him under his wing, hoping that keeping Steve in the loop, and as busy as possible, might help assuage the almost paralyzing guilt he was erroneously shouldering.

Steve was watching the activity in the large command centre from his perch on a desk in a corner when Williams approached. "Okay, the fleet's gonna start going out in a couple of hours, so we're going to send our two motorboats out now and get a headstart. We're gonna put them just inside the line, one near the Farallons and the other about fifty nautical miles further north, near Point Reyes."

By 'line', Steve knew Williams meant that imaginary barrier twelve miles from the coast that separated U.S. waters from international waters. And by motorboats he knew that Williams wasn't talking about two pleasure craft with outboard motors; the CG officer meant the two powerful self-righting 47-foot motor lifeboats, equipped with radar and capable of outrunning anything in the fishing fleet.

Williams added that he, Commander Brady and two full crews would also be standing by with the two large rapid-response hovercraft, which were more than capable to getting to the Farallons and beyond even faster than the lifeboats.

The commander nodded towards Steve's torso with a sympathetic smile. "Inspector, you're more than welcome to join me on the hovercraft, but I have to warn you, it's going to be very bumpy and very uncomfortable. We get thrown around quite a bit when we're at top speed out beyond the Bridge. You're gonna have to hold on for dear life and in your condition, it's gonna hurt big time. You think you're up for it?"

Steve had started nodding midway through the Williams' explanation. "Commander, nothing's gonna stop me from getting on board with you, believe me." He managed a soft smile and Williams grinned, shaking his head.

"Yeah, somehow I thought you'd say that. Good. And ah, seeing as we're gonna be spending quite a bit of time together in the next day or so, how 'bout you start calling me Brad and I start calling you Steve?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Great, thanks." Williams began to turn away then stopped. "Your partner, ah…?"

"Mike," Steve answered softly, "Lieutenant Mike Stone."

"Right, thanks. Ah, how long have you been together?"

"Five years."

Williams nodded, looking away briefly. "If they've got him on one of those fishing boats, we'll get him… don't worry. We're pretty good at what we do." He smiled encouragingly.

"I'm counting on it," Steve shot back with a wistful smile of his own, watching the CG officer cross the large, busy room.

# # # # #

The sun was starting to set. Bobby Cox had joined Steve at the Coast Guard station, reporting that nothing out of the ordinary had been observed so far at either Coopers or the pier, all the boats now out to sea.

It had been a long, frustrating day of waiting, with no concrete results. And Steve was starting to bristle under the strain. Not being able to physically participate in any aspect of the operation was beginning to wear on his nerves; and he hadn't eaten all day, seeming to subsist on a constant stream of black coffees.

Cox had eventually slipped out and driven up the hill and the short distance along Lincoln and Lombard to Divisadero, popping into his favourite deli to pick up a couple of sourdough sandwiches. Steve had refused the offer when Cox returned but eventually thought better of it; he could hear Mike's lecture about taking care of oneself in order to help others ringing in his ears as he stared at the waxed-paper wrapped turkey club.

He had just taken his first bite when the ensign manning the radio looked up quickly, calling for Williams. As the commander strode briskly across the room, Steve tossed the sandwich on the desk and got up slowly, masking a wince, to join him, Cox on his heels.

"Sir, CWO Baxter's reporting that one of the trawlers has broken away from the others just beyond the Farallons – it's heading west, sir."

Williams glanced at the two cops now standing behind him then leaned towards the radio operator. "Tell them to follow, at the requisite distance but to intercept if they get close to the line. We're on our way." He turned to the others. "Gentlemen, it's time to go," he said, trying to contain his own enthusiasm as he led the way out of the office. "John, it's all yours," he called to the warrant officer across the room.

"Thanks, Brad, good luck."

# # # # #

Williams' had been right. The pounding the hovercraft was taking as it skipped over the waves on its way to the Farallons was taking its toll on the injured police officer.

Steve was sitting on the floor of the small cabin, holding onto the railing above his head and trying to stop himself from bouncing against the walls as the big air boat skimmed over the choppy seas. A sympathetic ensign had given him a life jacket to sit on, which helped a bit, but Steve was beginning to have second thoughts about his decision to go along.

Cox was sitting beside him, trying to be of assistance but fighting his own battle; he'd had no idea he was prone to seasickness. Tonight was not the night, he mentally berated himself, to find out. He laid a hand on Steve's shoulder reassuringly, not sure which one of them needed the support more.

Williams' took off the headphones he was wearing, shot them both a sympathetic frown and stepped closer to kneel down beside them. He raised his voice to be heard over the roar of the engines and thudding of the craft against the water. "Our other boat just reported that a trawler has broken away from the others just off Point Reyes and is heading out to sea!"

The two cops glanced at each other, Steve gritting his teeth against the continuing pounding his battered body was taking. Cox looked back at the CG officer. "Which one are you going to go after?"

"Well, the one we're chasing right now is moving faster, so I still think it's the one we should focus on. Commander Brady is heading out in the other hovercraft to help with the intercept of the Point Reyes boat. So we'll be able to stop them both." He winked at Steve. "Looks like we're on the right track, Inspector." He returned to stand beside the ensign at the control wheel.

Steve closed his eyes, fighting off the pain from the constant pounding, hoping that Williams' was right.

# # # # #

It seemed like hours until the two detectives felt the ACV start to lose speed; in reality it was less than fifteen minutes. Within seconds it had slowed enough to allow them both to stand. Cox felt his stomach heave as he gained his feet but he managed to keep his dinner down, for the moment. Despite the chilly night air, which had managed to penetrate the small, hot cabin, Steve's brow was beaded with sweat. The ache in his chest was now constant and he was having a hard time catching his breath.

In the pitch black through the windows of the tiny cabin, they could vaguely discern the stark outline of the small blue and white fishing trawler pinned in the spotlight that shone from the prow of the larger Coast Guard craft.

Williams opened the cabin door and stepped out onto the tiny deck of the hovercraft, Steve and Cox close behind, leaning against the cabin walls for support as they tried to get their sea legs. The fishing boat was bobbing up and down, three crewmembers on their knees on the deck, their hands behind their downturned heads, caught in the beam from the powerful light.

"Great job, fellas!" Williams' called to the crew of the lifeboat.

"Thank you, sir!" came the formal reply out of the inky night. "We're just about to board, sir!"

"Don't let us stop you!"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

The San Francisco cops watched and listened as orders were shouted and the engine of the lifeboat kicked into gear, moving slowly and expertly alongside the trawler. Long hooks were lowered from the slightly higher CG boat, pulling the trawler tight alongside. Four CG sailors dropped down onto the trawler, carefully approaching the three 'fishermen'. Two of the sailors, one with a rifle, the other a handgun, pulled the fishermen to their feet and propelled them towards the lifeboat, where a rope ladder had been lowered. As they started to climb onto the CG boat, the other two sailors began to open the hatch door.

On the narrow deck of the hovercraft, Steve stood as if frozen to the spot, watching without blinking. The sailors lifted the heavy wooden cargo hold door, letting it slam against the deck, then one of them took a large flashlight from his belt, snapped it on, then flopped down on his belly to look into the hold.

Everyone held their breath.


	14. Chapter 14

All eyes, except those of the three 'fisherman' on their knees with their hands behind their heads, were on the sailor who was looking into the hold, the only sound the slapping of the water against the hulls and the flags snapping in the biting wind. The ensign pushed himself up on one elbow and looked back towards Williams.

"Nothing in here but fish, sir!" he yelled.

"Damn it!" Cox spat out; beside him Steve sagged in anger and frustration. Williams looked from the disappointed detectives to the fisherman, all three of whom were staring down. "How many fish?" he asked the ensign, raising his voice.

"Not very many, sir; not even half a load!"

"Ensign Carter, I hate to do this to you, son, but I'm gonna need you to get down into that hold."

Carter glanced quickly at his colleague next to him and rolled his eyes. "Why is it always me?" he asked rhetorically with a chuckle. "Yes, sir!" he yelled, getting to his knees and releasing the tie on the rope ladder, allowing it to drop into the hold. He hooked the flashlight back on his belt and started down the ladder.

Williams looked at the two bearded cops beside him. "I'm sorry, Steve. I really thought we might've had them."

With a heartsick sigh, the young inspector managed a tiny smile. "It's okay… we, ah, we all thought it was them. Maybe it _is_ the other boat."

Williams nodded. "Maybe. We'll have to wait and hear from Brady."

A commotion from the hold made them turn back in time to see the second ensign, Blum, reach down into the hold then straighten up with a heavy, wet and slimy-looking hard-sided suitcase. He had just put in on the deck when Carter popped his head up. "There's three more of those down here, sir! Under the fish!" he called to Williams, nodding down into the hold. "Want me to bring them up?"

"Yes, I do, Ensign!" the commander yelled back, glancing at the detectives with eyes beginning to shine. "Ensign Blum, do me the honors, will you?"

Flashing a grin in his superior's direction, Blum snapped, "Yes, sir, my pleasure, sir!" and dropped to his knees. Fishing a small Swiss Army knife out of his pants pocket, he knelt and deftly snapped the locks. He opened the suitcase; whatever it contained was covered with a layer of thick plastic, obviously to protect the contents from any water in the hold.

With the small but sharp penknife, Blum cut through the plastic then turned the suitcase to face the hovercraft. The spotlight on the prow of the lifeboat readjusted onto the suitcase, and the neat piles of American money became obvious to everyone.

Cox glanced at Williams. "Drug money?"

With a gratified snort and a wry smile, the commander nodded. "It happens all the time out here, and we try to intercept as many runs as we can but we don't get them all. This is a big win for the good guys, gentlemen." He stared at Steve again. "I'm sorry we didn't get your partner back tonight, but this is a huge break for us."

Steve was nodding slowly. "No, I, ah, I understand. I'm glad something good came out of this."

Williams nodded in understanding and gratitude then turned back to the lifeboat. "Gentlemen, I'll leave this in your hands. We have to get back to the station. Good work tonight."

"Thank you, sir!" the deep voice of the lifeboat captain emanated from the darkness once again.

Williams faced the two detectives and gestured with his chin; they turned around and crossed back to the cabin and its relative warmth. The lieutenant at the helm looked up as they entered. "Commander Williams, sir, we received a report from Commander Brady. Their lifeboat intercepted the other trawler; they were heading for deeper water in an attempt to increase their catch tonight. Captain Andrews has confirmed it, sir."

The commander looked at Steve and Cox again, shaking his head sympathetically. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, I wish the news could've been better. Let's just hope they _weren't_ moving any abductees tonight and we can catch them tomorrow."

"If we haven't already blown our cover," Cox sighed quietly, almost to himself, as he started to sit on the floor again. Steve stared at him, knowing what his colleague had just said was true. Holding his breath and trying not to wince, he used the wall to slip down to the floor then leaned against it, closing his eyes in pain, worry and frustration.

# # # # #

The trip back to Fort Point was at a much slower pace and, as a result, not as punishing as the trip out. But everyone on board now realized the stakes that had been so high before the night began were now even higher.

Back on land, calls were made and received, and by 3 a.m. consensus had been reached that it was unlikely that a deep-sea run would be made that night. They would have to wait until the fleet went out again later in the day.

In continuing discomfort, and almost paralyzingly disheartened, Steve allowed Bobby Cox to drive him home. He let himself into the darkened apartment with neither the will nor desire to climb the stairs to the second-floor bedroom. In the dark he laid down on the couch and stared at the ceiling, trying to empty his mind, knowing he needed sleep more than anything else right at the moment, anything except his partner.

He couldn't think straight, couldn't string two thoughts together coherently. He knew he had to get himself together so he could help in finding his best friend and putting an end to this horrifying chapter in his life.

With a heavy sigh, and gritting his teeth against the pain, he pulled himself to his feet and slowly mounted the stairs to the bathroom. From the medicine cabinet above the sink he removed a small plastic vial and popped the top, shaking two small yellow tablets onto his palm.

It had been a long time since he had resorted to sleeping pills but tonight, he knew, was an exception. He popped the pills into his mouth, turned on the cold water and, trying not to moan, leaned over the sink to drink from the tap. Straightening up, he grabbed a towel from the nearby rack, wiped the water from his chin and, tossing the towel on the counter, snapped off the light and crossed the hallway to his bedroom.

By the time he had taken off his clothes and slid between the sheets, pulling the comforter up from its position over the footboard, the sleeping pills were beginning to take effect.

# # # # #

Lieutenant Gary Newman, slouched behind the wheel of the dull grey LTD in an alley off Folsom, ran a tired hand over his face and exhaled loudly. It has been a discouragingly night, the drug interdiction aside, and he was getting frustrated. They were doing everything they knew to do, in the most professional manner possible, and still they were coming up with absolutely nothing. It was like Mike Stone had disappeared into thin air right before their eyes.

Again the apparitions straight out of Barbary Coast folklore spun through his brain – was this actually what was going on? The term 'far-fetched' kept floating through his mind and it was becoming harder and harder to disregard it.

Both he and Jenkins had managed to catch a few hours sleep before they once more manned the unmarked vehicles near Coopers and the pier as the first rays of dawn began to colour the sky. Both locations had been under intense but circumspect scrutiny for three solid days now and still nothing. Three different beer delivery trucks had slid into the narrow alley behind Coopers to off-load, and all three had been followed and then detained and minutely examined after they had left the neighbourhood. Nothing had been found. The drivers, and the companies, had then been contacted by the SFPD and officially warned not to contact Coopers, or anyone connected to Coopers, about the stop-and-search or they would face obstruction of justice charges.

Newman couldn't think of what else they could do. He was completely open to suggestions but no one else had any ideas either, at the moment.

With a loud sigh, he picked up the walkie-talkie and thumbed the Talk button. "You there, Kyle?"

The talkie crackled and Jenkins tinny chuckle could be heard. _"Yeah, I'm here. Where else would I be? Have to admit though – I prefer the view here to the alley over there."_

Newman laughed. They had decided to switch places today; the black van was parked on Taylor near Bay, facing the waterfront.

" _I'm gonna have to actually wear my sunglasses once the sun is really up,"_ Jenkins chortled.

"Lucky bastard." He paused as someone turned into the alley and started towards his car. "Chris is just coming back, I'll talk to you later." He tossed the talkie on the seat beside him as Vice Assistant Inspector Christopher Manning opened the passenger door and slid into the front seat. The newly minted detective was dressed like a homeless junkie and had spent the night in a doorway opposite the alley behind Coopers.

"Lieutenant," Manning nodded as he got into the Galaxie and closed the door.

With a low chuckle, Newman reached down towards the floor between his feet, his right hand coming up with a cardboard cup of coffee. "How many times do I have to tell you, Chris – it's Gary, okay? Here, I think you need this."

With a sudden, almost self-conscious grin, Manning reached for the cup. "Oh, you have no idea, sir… I mean, ah, Gary," he said tentatively, taking the lid off the coffee and taking a large sip.

"I'm not sure how hot it still is," Newman began but Manning shook his head.

"It's hot enough, believe me. Thank you." He wrapped both hands around the cup, savouring the warmth.

"So, nothing?"

Manning shook his head before taking another sip. "No, sir," he shook his head again after he swallowed, using the honorific without even thinking, and Newman smiled to himself. "There was a delivery to the bodega next door just after 5 a.m. but nothing to Coopers. I'm absolutely certain of that."

Newman sighed, trying to mask his discouragement, and Manning shot him an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry."

Newman sat back and smiled. "It's not your fault." He exhaled loudly. "It's just so frustrating, we have noth- " He stopped mid-word and froze.

Manning, about to take another sip of coffee, paused and stared at his superior officer. "Lieutenant…?" The older man's head turned slowly towards him.

"What did you say?"

"Sir?"

"About the delivery to the bodega?"

Manning's head went back slightly and he lowered the cup. "Oh, ah, a delivery truck pulled into the alley behind the bodega around 5. They were there about, oh, ten, fifteen minutes I guess."

"The bodega… it's on the far side of Coopers down the alley, right?"

"Yeah, the entire time it was there I could see the back of Coopers, and nothing came in or out there. I'm absolutely positive about that."

"The truck, was the back facing you or the cab?"

"The cab. The driver backed it in. Did a great job too – that alley is narrow."

"Did you see them moving the goods from the truck into the store?"

Manning shook his head. "No, they pulled the truck right up close to the door, on an angle."

Newman picked up the walkie-talkie. "Kyle, you there?"

" _Yeah, what's up?"_

"You got Norm Haseejian working with you today?"

" _Yeah, he's one of my homeless guys sleeping on the pier."_

"Get him over here right now. I've got a job for him."

# # # # #

The dirty middle-aged thick-set homeless man, ignoring the glares of the office workers giving him a wide berth, turned into the alley, making his way slowly along the side lined with garbage cans. A thick green plastic bag was tucked into his belt and he lifted the lids of all the cans he came across, rooting through the garbage for soda cans and bottles, chortling with delight when he found one and dropped it into his bag.

His eyes lit up when he reached the cans behind the bar but they held only rotting food. With a disgusted growl, he threw the lids back on the bins and continued down the alley towards the bodega.

He was taking the battered lid off a large aluminum can when something on the ground caught his eye. Mumbling to himself, the lid still in one hand, he bent over to get a better look, and froze.

Straightening slightly to put the lid back on the garbage can, Sergeant Norm Haseejian hunkered down in the alley and carefully picked up the object that had attracted his attention.

As he stood, the thin shaft of sunlight that illuminated the alley glinted off the one remaining lens in the shattered and flattened gold-rimmed glasses.


	15. Chapter 15

"Kyle, you there?"

" _Yeah, whata ya got?"_

"We think we might have found Mike's glasses. Look, any of your guys see a white box truck anywhere near the piers early this morning, after 5?"

" _I don't know. Let me make the rounds and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Why?"_

"I'll explain later. Just get back to me as soon as you can." Newman set the walkie-talkie on the seat beside him and turned to the filthy, badly over-dressed man on the seat beside him. He nodded at the flattened glasses in Sergeant Haseejian's hand. "Good catch, Norm."

The Armenian detective nodded solemnly. "Well, now we know they moved him but it still doesn't tell us whether he's still alive or not."

"Yeah, well, it's more than we had before."

"So, what do we do next? And, ah," he held the glasses up slightly, "do we let Steve know about this?"

Newman thought for a few seconds then shook his head slightly. "Let's see what Kyle tells us first. I have a couple of ideas but I need to know if that truck showed up on the pier this morning."

# # # # #

Williams, Newman and Haseejian leaned over the large map of the San Francisco Bay Area that the CG commander had spread out on Steve's desk in the Homicide bullpen.

"Okay, so, if I had to pick one, I would say Sausilito." Williams pointed at the marina on the western side of Richardson Bay. "It'd be easy to get a truck down to the wharf there, and it's not a commercial fishing pier so I doubt there'd be much activity that early in the morning."

"What about joining the fleet when they go out?" Newman asked, continuing to stare at the map.

"Well, it's possible for them to sail down near Vista Point and then just slide around and slip out under the Bridge when the fleet heads out, blending in. Nobody's been paying much attention to the north side, have they? All the attention has been on our wharves."

Newman continued to study the map, nodding slowly. "I have a good feeling about this. I think this could be it." He looked up at Williams. "Thanks, Commander. I think we all have our work cut out for us today."

"Agreed. I'm gonna leave this with you," he smiled grimly, pointing at the map, "and I'm going to get back to the station and get everything set up for tonight." He turned to Haseejian and held out his right hand. "Sergeant, you can tell your men we're going to get your lieutenant back, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Haseejian said with a hopeful smile, shaking the CG officer's hand.

As Williams left the office, Newman looked up at the sergeant. "Norm, we're gonna need to send a couple a guys over to Sausalito asap, ask around, you know… very low profile."

"I know just the guys," Haseejian offered with a wry smile, "I'll get them right on it."

# # # # #

Kyle Jenkins glanced at his watch; it was getting close to noon. The men who had been keeping Coopers under surveillance had been pulled and were now covering the wharf, even though recent developments had shifted focus to the north side of the Bridge.

The passenger door opened and Gary Newman slid into the car. He smiled grimly. "Well, we're finally getting somewhere. Someone out walking his dog along the marina in Sausalito remembers seeing a white truck down near the docks early this morning but that's all. They couldn't remember exactly where and they didn't see what was going on but they did say there was a truck there."

"But we're not sure if it's even the same truck, right?"

"True," Newman agreed, "but my gut is telling me it is." He stared at his friend and colleague. "What about you?"

Jenkins nodded slowly. "Yeah… yeah, I think you're right… I think this is it."

"Good," Newman smiled, relaxing slightly in the seat. "Listen, I'm gonna have Norm go get Steve. He needs to know about this… and I know he'll want to be in on the operation again tonight, no matter how bad he's feeling."

"Yeah, you're right about that too."

# # # # #

There were no available parking spaces on the short dead-end block of Union so Haseejian double-parked the green Galaxie in front of the grey-blue clapboard apartment building. He glanced at the impressive view of the Bay Bridge as he climbed the short staircases the led to the front door of 287. Foregoing the doorbell, he opted for loud knocking.

He had just pounded for the second time when the door was pulled open and the pain-filled, frowning, bearded face of his young colleague appeared. "Norm, what are you doing here?" Steve asked, his voice croaking slightly. He pulled the door open a little wider as he cleared his throat, then froze. "Wait – Mike…?"

"No no no," Haseejian said quickly, raising a hand to stop the wild speculation, "it's not that. But there has been a development." He stepped across the threshold, pushing the half-open door so he could get past it into the living room.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked quickly, automatically closing the door.

Haseejian turned to face him, trying to keep his expression neutral. He reached into his inside jacket pocket, watching Steve follow the move with a confused frown. When he took out the flattened glasses, he saw the younger man's eyes widen in shock. "We found these in the alley behind Coopers this morning."

Steve swallowed heavily, his eyes snapping from the glasses to the sergeant's face.

"Look," Haseejian continued, "let's get you dressed so we can get out of here and I'll fill you in while you do, okay?"

Nodding, Steve started up the stairs to his bedroom, Haseejian on his heels.

# # # # #

"So we sent a couple a guys over to Sausalito, pretending to be tourists, and checked out the marinas over there. They counted twenty-one boats that could be fishing trawlers, in various states of… shall I say, usability. Three of them are in dry dock and undergoing major repairs, six have been transformed into houseboat-type craft – don't ask me why - and another three are so poorly equipped that they would stand out like sore thumbs in the real fleet – but that leaves nine that are our potential target boats."

Williams was standing in the middle of the Fort Point command centre, facing the group of SFPD and Coast Guard personnel that would be manning the search and, hopefully, recovery operation that night. It was a full room.

"We have spotters along the western shore of Richardson Bay and they are going to let us know when and if any of the fishing boats moored in Sausalito head out to join the fleet. But that probably won't happen for another couple of hours, so I just want all of you to be ready and on standby, 'cause when all this starts tonight, I have a feeling it's gonna go really fast and we have to be prepared for anything. Whoever these guys are, chances are they've been doing this for quite awhile and they have perfected, or they think they have, their method of operation.

"But we're on to them now, even though we still have no idea who they are, and I think we're smarter and have a lot more resources than they do – and we're gonna put a end to this once and for all." His confident smile swept the group, stopping on Steve Keller. He winked and his positive encouragement could be felt across the room.

"Oh, ah, and in case we need them, the Alameda Naval Base has offered two of their Sikorsky helicopters, and each of them carry three .50 caliber machine guns. I'm hoping we don't need them, but you never know and it's great to have them in our back pocket in case we do, let me tell you.

"Gentlemen, we have about two hours till the fleet begins to head out for the night. You all know what you have to do."

The group began to dissemble. Steve, who was sitting on a desk in a corner with Bobby Cox, looked at Haseejian standing beside him with a mirthless snort and a shake of his head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"What?" the Homicide sergeant asked quietly.

Steve opened his eyes, a melancholic look playing across his features. "Richardson Bay. Mike's, ah…. his doppelganger? The name I picked for him was Archibald Richardson."

Haseejian laughed, smiling affectionately. "Watergate, right?"

Steve nodded, smiling slightly. "Helluva coincidence, hunh?"

"You mean because the Bay has the same name?" Haseejian asked and Steve nodded again. " _You_ may think it's a coincidence, _I_ think it's an omen. And a good one." He winked as he pushed himself away from the desk and crossed the room. Steve looked at Bobby Cox and smiled hopefully, reaching up instinctively to touch the upper left side of his leather jacket. It was almost a superstitious gesture; he was carrying the smashed glasses in the inside pocket.

# # # # #

Steve and Cox were standing beside Williams in the cabin of the hovercraft, which was bobbing softly in the choppy water. It was another frigid night and Steve was glad he wore his leather jacket again, chilly even inside the small enclosure.

Four of the nine trawlers moored in Sausalito had made the trip around Vista Point and under the Golden Gate Bridge to join the San Francisco fishing fleet leaving the Bay for the cold deep waters of the Pacific Ocean. But at first long glance, there wasn't anything about any one of them that aroused suspicion.

But, like the two huge Coast Guard lifeboats and the other ACV, they were now skirting the periphery of the fishing fleet, lights out, waiting. So far nothing untoward had happened, but the bright green radar screens were keeping track of every boat and experienced eyes were watching every move.

Steve glanced at the man beside him. "How are you doing?" he asked, knowing the difficulty Cox had experienced the night before.

The dark-haired and bearded veteran cop looked at him from under a furrowed brow and leaned a little closer. "I took a Dramamine. So far, so good. How about you?" he whispered, glancing at the back of Williams head, not wanting to be overheard.

"Tylenol. And I've got the bottle in my pocket, just in case."

Cox nodded in understanding and they both shared a tiny wry smile.

The lieutenant manning the radar screen looked up. "Commander, looks like we have one breaking away, sir."

Williams took a step closer so he was looking over the younger man's shoulder. The detectives moved closer as well, though they still couldn't see the screen.

No one spoke as the Commander and Petty Officer stared at the path the green beam of the rotating radio line was making on the radar screen. Suddenly they both flinched slightly but sharply. Williams glanced over his shoulder. "We have a second one."

Steve and Cox exchanged frowns as Williams took a step back from the radar. Suddenly the air in the small cabin was filled with orders; the propellers began to spin and the flexible skirt of the hovercraft inflated.

"Grab onto something or sit," Williams called towards the two detectives, "it's gonna get bumpy." Within seconds the ACV starting pounding over the waves again, as Williams huddled with his radar operator.

They had been covering the distance between themselves and the fishing fleet at top speed for several minutes when Williams picked up the ship-to-ship radio and began shouting into the receiver.

The detectives couldn't hear what was being said, but they could tell from Williams demeanor that it was urgent and consequential. Eventually slamming the receiver back on the cradle, Williams crossed towards them and knelt, shouting to be heard over the roar of the propellers.

"There are three boats that are now breaking away from the pack – two west of the Farallons and one up near Point Reyes! And we have radar shadows of four large vessels just beyond the line!"

"Which one are we going after?" Steve yelled back, trying to ignore the pain in his chest from the incessant pounding.

"One of them is moving a lot faster than any fishing boat we've ever seen. I'm suspecting souped up engines. That'll be our target! One of the lifeboats is closer, but it's gonna be a flat-out race to see who gets where first – if either of us gets to the trawler, or the trawler makes it across the line." He paused briefly, his mouth a grim line. "I've requested one of the Sikorskys to give us a hand." With a sharp, confirming nod he got to his feet and went back to stand over the radar operator again.

Steve turned to Cox worriedly. "If the boat gets over the line into international waters, does that mean we can't stop it?"

Cox shook his head. "I've been reading up on it. As long as we suspect they're committing a crime, we can stop 'em no matter where they are. But if the trawler makes it to the big ship, and it's flying another flag, we can't touch 'em."

Steve sat back against the wall, his arms wrapped around his aching ribs, and closed his eyes. They had to make it, and they had to make it fast.


	16. Chapter 16

The hovercraft was pounding along at top speed, spraying salt water onto the windows of the small cabin where the wipers were trying but failing to keep up. Though staying dry inside, the passengers were once more being tossed around. Steve and Cox were sitting on the floor, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to stop themselves from being thrown against the wall behind them. Steve's eyes were squeezed shut; he didn't want to cry out in pain but it was getting harder and harder to hold it in.

Suddenly there was a roar, much louder than that from the propellers right behind them, and a blinding white light passed over the ACV, heading in the same direction. The two detectives looked up then out the front windows as the light and the roar receded.

Williams, still standing at the control wheel, glanced up and smiled, then looked at the two detectives. "Our Navy friends!" he yelled over the din. "Looks like they're gonna get there before us!"

The CG petty officer manning the ship-to-ship radio looked up quickly. "Commander Williams!"

The commander looked up then crossed quickly to the petty officer. Steve and Cox watched as the exchange of information took place; it was hard to tell if the news was good or bad.

Williams returned to them, kneeling down. "One of the lifeboats and the chopper have caught up but the trawler refuses to stop! There's been an exchange of gunfire!"

Steve's eyes shot open in alarm and Cox looked at him worriedly. "The chopper fired on them?!" he asked anxiously, knowing the cartridges from a .50 calibre machine gun would penetrate a wooden trawler like a knife through butter.

"They fired into the water around them! Don't worry, the Navy boys know what they're doing! We'll be there soon ourselves!" Williams got up and crossed back to the radio operator.

Steve looked at Cox; the older man could see the fear and worry in his eyes.

# # # # #

They felt the ACV start to slow and scrambled to their feet. Steve's ribs were aching and he kept his left arm wrapped around his chest as he pulled himself up with the other hand. Cox shot him a concerned frown, reaching out to help, but Steve shook him off.

Through the salt-water streaked windows they could see a red-and-white trawler bobbing on the waves, almost incandescent in the blinding spotlights emanating from both the CG craft in front of it and the Sikorsky above. Even from a distance, those on the hovercraft could see at least two men armed with rifles on the small deck of the trawler.

The ear-splitting report of gunfire issued from the chopper as around the trawler little explosions of water appeared as the bullets hit. They could hear commands being made through bullhorns but were too far away to make out the words.

Both men on the boat hesitated, exchanging a brief look. One of them began to lower his rifle; the other watched him begin to surrender and started to do the same. Suddenly he brought the rifle back up and almost instantly he was flying backwards off his feet, slamming against the front of the trawler cabin, the rifle slipping from his hands as he slumped, unmoving, his chest covered in blood.

The second man let the rifle slide from his hands and dropped to his knees, lacing his fingers behind his head. Slowly, the lifeboat began to move closer. Still pinned in the blinding spotlights, a third man emerged from the cabin and, glancing over his shoulder at his dead accomplice, lowered himself to his knees as well, his hands on his head.

Steve felt the ACV begin to move closer as the lifeboat pulled alongside the trawler and secured itself. Four sailors scrambled down onto the deck of the trawler and, handguns at the ready, quickly spread out and covered the small boat, returning to the prow and nodding towards the lifeboat.

The ACV pulled up to the trawler as two of the sailors pushed the 'fishermen' forward, forcing their arms behind their backs and handcuffing them. The other two sailors holstered their sidearms and helped to pull the suspects to their feet and propelled them into the trawler cabin, forcing them to the floor. They left the dead man on the deck but pulled him closer to the prow.

The ACV stopped, bobbing in the water as Williams and the two detectives left the cabin to stand on the small deck, watching the controlled and professional action taking place on the trawler. Steve wasn't sure if he was breathing; he couldn't take his eyes off the hatch door in the centre of the trawler floor and he subconsciously pulled his leather jacket tighter against the biting chill.

"Commander Williams?!" came the request from the lifeboat, and the commander looked into the dark in the direction of the large CG craft.

"Go ahead!"

"Carter, Blum!"

The two ensigns who had holstered their weapons, and whom Steve and Cox recognized from the day before, turned into the light, squinting, and nodded. "Yes, sir!" they answered in unison, then turned as one and moved to opposite sides of the heavy hatch door.

They lifted it, letting it slam back against the deck. As before, Carter slipped the flashlight off his belt and started to get down onto his belly but even before he could do so, Blum looked up into the light. "We got 'em, Captain! They're here!"

Steve flinched, reaching out to grab Cox's forearm and squeeze. There was a split second of hesitation all around, as if nobody could believe what the ensign had just yelled, then there was a frenzy of action.

As if in a daze, Steve started towards the small ladder on the side of the ACV, but Williams grabbed him. "Steve, Steve!" he called, trying to get the young cop's attention, watching as the green eyes turned to him slowly and focused, "we're too far away, you can't get off yet. Let us get closer."

Steve nodded distractedly, the words taking time to sink in, and Williams gestured with his chin through the window towards the helmsman, who began to ease the hovercraft up to the trawler.

Someone on the deck of the lifeboat began to wave a large flashlight into the sky, the beam raking back and forth across the bottom of the Sikorsky. Within seconds the chopper began to lift, the spotlight snapped off, and it turned, starting back toward land.

Steve watched as Carter and Blum disappeared into the hatch, flashlights in hand, not even waiting to lower the rope ladder. More sailors dropped onto the trawler from the lifeboat, blankets and what looked like military-issue canteens being handed down to them.

Two of the sailors had noticed a long wooden gangplank with crossbars lying against the side of the boat; it had hooks on one end. They picked it up and, after yelling down to Carter and Blum inside the hold, lowered it in, securing it onto the deck.

Almost immediately, Carter's head appeared above the hatch, staring into the spotlight. "We've got eleven men down here, Commander!" He paused fractionally, then his voice lowered slightly, almost unconsciously. "One is deceased, sir!"

Steve, about to follow Williams as he stepped onto the trawler from the hovercraft, froze and Cox grabbed his arm. The slightly older man leaned forward, whispering urgently in his ear, "It's not Mike. I know it's not."

Steve nodded reluctantly, not entirely convinced, and, holding his breath and gritting his teeth, followed Williams over the side of the ACV, dropping down onto the deck of the trawler while trying to mask a gasp of pain. Cox was close on their heels.

As Steve started towards the hold, Williams crossed to one of the non-coms guarding the two detainees in the trawler's cabin. He held out his right hand. "I need your firearm, Baptiste," he said, more a request than an order, but the young sailor instantly laid the .40 calibre S&W in his commanding officer's hand.

Closing his fist around the grip, Williams reached down with his other hand and hauled the suspect who had been manning the wheel of the trawler to his feet. He nodded towards the other man, still sitting against the wall. "Get him out of here."

"Yes, sir," Baptiste snapped, grabbing the suspect by the collar, dragging him up and propelling him out the door.

Williams raised the pistol and put it against the other man's head. The heavyset dark-haired, mustachioed older man began to sweat even more. "I need you to get on that," he indicated the transmitter with a tilt of his head, "and radio that big ship that's waiting out there for you and tell them you're not going to be making it tonight. Do you understand me?"

The big man didn't move. Williams tightened his grip on the man's collar, choking him slightly.

"In case you didn't understand, that wasn't a request. You either do what I said, or you end up like your friend out there." He nodded towards the prow, where the body of the dead trafficker was lying face up. "And nobody here is gonna stop me, I can assure you. 'Cause if I don't do it, one of them will."

Under his grip, he could feel the suspect begin to shake. More beads of sweat appeared on his already glistening forehead and he swallowed heavily. "What do you want me to tell 'em?" he asked hoarsely.

"Use your imagination," Williams growled. "You ran outa gas, you spotted the Coast Guard… I don't care. Just make it believable. But don't make a slip, 'cause I can pull this trigger a lot faster than you can talk."

Nodding hesitatingly, the suspect reached out and took the receiver off the hook on the wall.

# # # # #

Grimacing from the pain, Steve started carefully down the gangplank, grabbing onto the lip of the hatch above his head before he'd gone down far enough that he had to let go. The hold was pitch black and so cold they could see their own breaths; the beams of several flashlights were bouncing around as the sailors were starting to release the captives. He caught glimpses of men sitting against the walls, their heads down, their hands bound above their heads.

Cox trotted down the plank behind him and a flashlight beam snapped on. The blankets and canteens were being dropped down into the hold beside them as Cox swung the light back and forth, both of them looking for Mike.

Ensign Carter's voice cut through the dark. "Your partner's over there." His flashlight beam snapped to the far end, briefly playing over a very still form against the wall.

Though the hold was very deep, Steve instinctively ducked as he almost ran the few steps towards the back, dropping to his knees. Cox knelt behind him, the beam of light now on the limp body of the man tied to the wall. In the thin cotton dress shirt he'd been wearing in the bar, the lieutenant was leaning against the rough wood, his cuffed hands lashed with a thick rope to a large iron ring that was bolted to the wall slightly above him. Eyes closed, his head rested limply against his upraised arms.

"Mike…" Steve breathed, reaching out to put his hand under his partner's chin, gently raising his head. The two-day stubble was rough under his fingers. "Mike…"

Gradually the blue eyes opened, blinking slowly as they tried to focus. Cox moved the flashlight so Steve's face could be seen. Almost imperceptibly a small smile began to build. And in a voice so low and raspy that both Steve and Cox had to strain to hear him, Mike whispered, "Hey, buddy boy… I was wondering when you were gonna find me."


	17. Chapter 17

Despite himself, despite the fear and the anger and the pain, both physical and emotional, that was coursing through his body, Steve Keller laughed. Cupping his partner's face in both hands, he leaned forward till they were forehead to forehead, and for a few precious seconds the rest of the world disappeared.

Beside him, putting the flashlight down, Cox opened a canteen. "Here," he said, nudging Steve and gesturing with his chin towards Mike as he held the canteen out for the younger man to take. As he did, Cox called over his shoulder, "Can we get the bolt cutters over here?"

More aware of what was happening around him than Steve had been, Cox had seen the large tool lowered into the hold and knew one of the sailors was using it to cut the bound men free.

Ignoring the ache in his chest, Steve sat beside his partner, one hand on the back of his head to steady him, and raised the canteen. Closing his eyes, Mike started to drink, taking a couple of gulps before he began to cough. Steve lowered the canteen, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Easy, easy, we've got plenty," he said soothingly.

The sailor with the bolt cutter appeared. Cox lifted the flashlight and Steve put the canteen down, then got on his knees and carefully lifted Mike's hands to expose the chain of the cuffs. A link was severed with a loud snap.

When Steve worked the chain out of the thick rope that bound it to the ring, Mike's arms dropped onto his lap and he gasped. "What?" Steve asked, worried.

Mike caught his breath again. "I, ah, I can't feel my arms. They're numb…" He closed his eyes and held his breath, releasing it in another short gasp.

"Paresthesia," the sailor said from above them as he straightened up. "It's from his arms being elevated for so long; he's lost the feeling in them. It'll come back but it'll be painful, like really bad pins and needles." He glanced at Mike and even in the dark they could see his sympathetic smile. "It'll help if you rub his arms and hands."

As the sailor moved away, Steve and Cox looked at each other with matching impressed nods. "I can do this," Steve said, reaching for the blanket that Cox had set nearby. "Just give me a hand."

Mike was leaning against the wall with his eyes squeezed shut, his arms lying useless in his lap. He put up no resistance when Steve pulled him gently away from the wall, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders then, with Cox's assistance, slid in between his partner and the wall, pulling Mike back to lie against his chest.

As Cox moved away to help the others, Steve offered Mike more water, then pushed his right sleeve higher and began to rub his forearm. "Can you feel that?" he asked quietly. Against his chest he felt Mike's head shake.

"I hate pins and needles," he heard the older man mumble then jiggle slightly as he chuckled.

"So do I," Steve laughed gently, continuing to knead his friend's arm. He felt and heard Mike sigh as he leaned on him even more, and any pain he was feeling receded with the knowledge that their lives would soon be back to normal.

They sat that way in silence, Mike resting against him, eyes closed, Steve trying to massage the feeling back into the older man's forearms and hands. Around them the activity continued as orders and questions were shouted, responses confirmed, the other abductees released from their bonds and being attended to – a swirl of uplifting concern for humanity. Smiling with a warm pride, Steve briefly laid his cheek against the top of Mike's head, almost overwhelmed with the relief.

A couple of calm and quiet minutes later he felt his partner stiffen slightly and catch his breath. "Ah ah ah…" came the uncomfortable gasps. He leaned forward, his mouth near Mike's ear.

"The pins and needles?"

Mike nodded quickly. "Yeah," he gasped, catching his breath again. He began to work his fingers as the feeling started to come back. "Oh god, that hurts," he groaned lowly, trying not to call undue attention to himself.

Steve stopped rubbing Mike's left forearm as the older man breathed in sharp gasps, suppressing his moans of pain. Eventually his breaths lengthened and he began to relax. "Going away?"

Mike nodded, allowing himself to ease back into his partner's grasp, rotating his wrists as full feeling and range of motion returned to his arms and hands. He exhaled loudly and chuckled. "Well, I'm glad that's over."

"You want to try standing?" Steve asked and the older man nodded.

"Yeah, I wanna get outa here."

Steve scrambled to his feet first and Mike turned slowly to get on his hands and knees then, with the younger man's assistance, climbed to his feet, swaying slightly on the bobbing trawler.

Mike chuckled self-consciously, pulling the blanket around himself in the damp cold. "Gotta get my sea legs."

Steve looked around the hold. A few of the abductees had already made the unsteady climb to the deck, and Cox was helping a disheveled young man up the steep gangplank. Against the far wall, a grey blanket covered the body of the man who hadn't survived.

Swallowing heavily, Steve put his hand on his partners elbow and they moved across the hold to the plank. As Mike put his foot on the bottom to start up, Cox appeared at the top, taking a few steps down the wooden plank and extending a hand. "How ya doing, Lieutenant?" he asked with a grin and Mike looked up and smiled, reaching for Cox's hand, accepting the help.

"I'm okay, Bobby, thanks to you guys," he chuckled as he started slowly and carefully up the gangplank, Steve close behind him.

When they were safely up on deck, Mike looked around, eyebrows on the rise, a little surprised to see the large Coast Guard boat and hovercraft moored alongside. "We, ah, we brought out the big guns!" Steve said with a laugh.

"I can see that."

A tall uniformed man stepped towards them, extending his right hand. "Lieutenant Stone, I'm Commander Williams. Are we glad to see you!"

Mike grinned and shook his hand. "Not half as glad as I am to see you guys… especially him," he laughed, indicating Steve with his thumb as he looked over his shoulder at his young partner with pride. "The last time I saw _him_ they were tossing him out of a bar and he didn't look so good."

"Well, I can guarantee you, Lieutenant, nothing was gonna stop him from coming with us to get you back, that's for sure," Williams chuckled, including the inspector in his warm smile.

Steve looked down as Mike stared at him, grinning, then turned back to the commander. "Ah, that's Mike, Commander, not Lieutenant, okay?"

"You got it, as long as you call me Brad." He took as step back as Mike nodded with a chuckle. "Let's get you onto my ACV over there," he indicated the hovercraft over his shoulder, "and back to the city so you can get checked out." He started to turn away but Mike held his ground.

"I'm okay, I don't need to be checked out. And I, ah, I'd rather stay with the rest of these fellas, Brad… we're kinda in this together, don't you think?" Mike was looking at his fellow abductees, some of whom were already on board the lifeboat, two of them sitting stone-faced on the deck of the trawler, huddled under the grey blankets.

"I understand how you feel, Mike," Williams said gently, stepping closer to the detective once more, "but you and your partner are the reason we were able to rescue these guys. And you've got information we need to shut this operation down altogether, and as soon as possible, so this doesn't happen again." He looked at the activity around them. "All these men are going to get the best care – we have ambulances standing by back at the station. You don't have to worry about any of them, okay?"

Steve had taken a step closer and was standing beside his partner. He laid a hand gently on Mike's back, patting him lightly, letting him know he agreed with everything the Commander had just said.

Mike dropped his head briefly and sighed. Then he raised his head and nodded. "Okay, you're right. Let's get these bastards."

"Good," Williams agreed with a sharp nod, starting for the ACV. Mike and Steve fell into step behind him.

Bobby Cox caught Steve's arm and the younger man turned. "You go on ahead. I'm gonna stay with the lifeboat and talk to any of the guys who are able, and willing, to talk to me, see what they can tell us. I'll reconnect with you in The City."

"Good idea," Steve agreed, catching up with Mike and, with Williams' assistance, helping the older man onto the AVC.

Safely in the cabin, Williams turned to the two detectives. He glanced at Steve and smiled before addressing Mike. "We're going to be heading back in a _lot_ slower than we went out," he chuckled, "but you still might want to sit and brace yourselves against the wall. Even on a calm sea it gets bouncy."

"You can say that again," Steve mumbled as he helped his partner to sit, making sure the heavy blanket was wrapped around him. He tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to mask a wince as he got himself down onto the floor.

"You're not alright, are you?" Mike asked anxiously, watching him with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong?"

"I'm okay," Steve assured him, settling himself again the wall.

"Like hell you are. I can see the black eye now, and I know you have quite the cut under that bandage. What else is wrong?"

Steve looked away, knowing he was caught out and not wanting to lie. "He, ah, well, he cracked a couple of ribs…"

"What?" Mike almost yelled. "You have a couple of broken ribs?"

"Cracked, Mike, cracked, not broken. But I'm taped up, I'm okay."

"Cracked ribs are nothing to fool with, buddy boy. Especially not bouncing around on some boat out on the ocean. What were you thinking?"

Steve stared at him silently, forcing Mike to realize what he had just said. Flustered, the older man looked away, taking a deep breath, his eyes suddenly bright. He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his eyes, then looked back at his partner again. "I'm glad you're here," he said softly.

Steve grinned, patting Mike's knee. "I'm glad I am too."

# # # # #

The hovercraft was making its way slowly but surely back to port. Williams had been on the radio communicating with the captains of both lifeboats and the commander of the other ACV; they were all participating in getting the abductees and the trawler back to The City.

The entire operation was going to be kept on the QT; there were still arrests to be made and they wanted to make sure that the capture and detention of the trawler remained secret.

Hanging up the receiver, Williams was stepping closer to the helmsman when he glanced up at their two civilian passengers. Mike had somehow managed to fall asleep, sitting side by side with his partner, his head on Steve's shoulder.

The younger man glanced up, noticing the commander's bemused stare. He turned slightly to look at the top of his partner's head on his shoulder then looked back at the Coast Guard officer and smiled.

"Thank you," he mouthed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry for the delay - really needed to take a day off!**

The soft thud and slight jerking motion as the hovercraft slipped almost seamlessly from the water onto the low dock under the Golden Gate Bridge at Fort Point finally roused Mike and he lifted his head to find his partner's smiling face mere inches from his own.

"We're home," the younger man said with a soft chuckle as Mike looked around hesitatingly, as if trying to remember where he was and how he got there. Suddenly the light dawned.

"Oh, ah, yeah, right," he said quietly, shaking his head with an almost embarrassed snort.

Steve got to his feet as the hovercraft floated to a stop and began to settle, the air escaping from the skirt as the propellers shut down. As he helped the older man to his feet, keeping a hand on his arm for support, Williams crossed the short distance to them. "Mike, if you'll follow Steve, he knows exactly where to go. I'll join you as soon as I finish up here."

Mike turned to his partner with a mischievous smile. "Lead on, MacDuff," he chuckled, waving the younger man ahead of him.

Steve managed a head shake and eye roll in Williams direction before he led them out of the cabin, onto the deck and down the short metal steps to the dock. Coast Guard personnel were all over the dock, and they were directed towards the staircase they were to use to access the large red brick building tucked under the Bridge. Steve led them to the appropriate door and they stepped out of the dark, cold night into the bright warmth of the masonry fortification.

Lieutenants Gary Newman and Kyle Jenkins were there to greet them. "Jesus Christ, are you a sight for sore eyes," Newman said with a heavy relieved sigh as he spotted Mike coming through the door.

Mike stopped abruptly in surprise, a grin splitting his weary, unshaven face, as he shook hands with his Vice counterpart. Before he could say anything, Jenkins stepped forward as well, patting him gently on the back with a, "You sure had us scared for awhile there, Mike. We weren't sure we were gonna get you back."

"Well, I'm here, thanks to all you guys," the Homicide detective chuckled, glancing over at Steve. "And I was right, wasn't I? This is a Shanghai gang, isn't it?" he continued with a touch of pride in his light tone.

The others laughed. "You sure were," Jenkins agreed, nodding. "So what do ya say we nail the rest of the bastards?"

As the sickening image of the body under the grey blanket on the floor of the hold came back to him, Mike looked at his partner; he knew Steve was recalling the same horrific apparition. The smile disappeared. "I'd say that's the very next thing we have to do."

# # # # #

Most of the members of what they had started to call the Press Gang Team were waiting for them in a large office on the ground floor of the Fort. After Mike acknowledged everyone's joy and relief at his safe return, they settled down to business.

Still wrapped in the gray blanket, and sitting on a large leather chair that someone had dragged in from an office down the hall, Mike began with an apology. "I wish there was more that I could tell you fellas, but most of the last …" He hesitated, his brow furrowing, and turned to Steve, who was sitting on a table on his right.

"Two days," his partner told him, eyebrows raised.

Mike's eyes widened slightly as he inclined his head. "Wow," he breathed softly, "it sure felt a hell of a lot longer than that." He shook his head in amazement. "Anyway, ah, for most of that time I was drugged. I know that's how they got me out of the bar." He looked up at Newman quickly. "Danny… the bartender?"

Newman, and most of the others, nodded.

"Yeah, he's definitely their point man. It was that last drink he gave me… ah, after Steve got beaten up and thrown out." He glanced up at the younger man pointedly and Steve glared back; he knew Mike was still upset about the extent of his injuries.

"I wasn't thrown out, I left voluntarily," he corrected quietly, and Mike stared at him without moving for several long beats. He knew what that meant; he knew that Steve, as injured as he was, had not wanted to jeopardize the operation, jeopardize his cover _. Their_ covers.

Realizing everyone was waiting for him to continue, Mike blinked quickly several times as he turned back to the others. But he knew he wanted to talk about what had happened in the bar in more detail, when time and place permitted

"Um, yeah, there was definitely something in that last scotch. I couldn't taste it… at least I don't think I could, I had a lot on my mind…" His eyes snapped briefly in Steve's direction. "But after a few sips I began to feel really dizzy… there were blacks spots I couldn't see through, and I was having a hard time moving… everything went into slow-motion. I just wanted to lie down and fall asleep."

"Do you remember how they physically got you out of the bar?" Newman asked.

Mike shook his head, his focus turning inward as he tried to remember. "I really, ah… I think I remember somebody, maybe a couple a guys, picking me up by the arms…? I sort of remember moving through a crowd of people but I don't know if I was walking under my own steam or not…

"The only other thing I really remember before I saw _his_ face," he smiled, indicating Steve with a jerk of his thumb, "was being in this dark, cold room, lying on the floor with my hands tied behind my back. There were others in there too but it was pitch black and I couldn't see anything… I could hear them though…but I don't know how many…" His voice faded and he sat very still, staring into nothingness.

After several seconds, he raised his head quickly and smiled wryly. "Sorry, fellas, I know you were hoping to get more from me, but that's it. I might remember more later but right now…" He shrugged apologetically.

Jenkins took a step towards him and dropped a hand onto his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Mike, we're just glad we got you back. But we have more than enough right now to get warrants for Coopers and that bodega next door."

"The bodega? Why there?" Mike asked, frowning.

"Because we're pretty sure that's where you and the others were stashed after you were nabbed."

"How do you know that?"

Newman chuckled, standing up and coming closer. "We'll tell you that some other time. Right now Kyle and I have some planning to do and Steve and Norm are going to take you to the hospital."

Mike started to shake his head. "I don't need to go to the hos-"

"Yeah, you do," Newman said firmly, cutting him off. "You're not in charge of this operation anymore, Mike. Kyle and I are. You're a victim right now, whether you like it or not. And the most important thing you can do at the moment is to get to the hospital and have them give you a once over. When that's done, and if they give you a clean bill of health, you're back on the team. Do I make myself clear?"

The tension crackled in the air as the two lieutenants stared at each other, neither of them moving. Every eye in the room snapped from one stubborn face to the other. Then, with the most imperceptible of nods, Mike lowered his eyes; he knew Newman was right.

The Vice lieutenant smiled gently. "Thank you," he said quietly, then looked at Steve, raising his eyebrows.

With a relieved smile, Steve got to his feet and stepped closer to his partner. Mike looked up at him without saying a word, then got slowly to his feet, the blanket still around his shoulders. Norm Haseejian suddenly appeared beside them, keys in his hand. "I'll drive you," he said softly, nodding at Steve and smiling sympathetically at Mike.

As the Homicide detectives got to the door, Mike looked at Newman over his shoulder. "I'll be back," he said firmly.

Newman smiled. "Oh, I know you will."

# # # # #

The soft knock on the wooden door brought him quickly out of the light sleep. His head snapped up and for a brief moment he had no idea where he was. The room was inordinately bright; his partner was asleep in a hospital bed, an IV line attached to his right arm. Everything came flooding back as he began to stand, the pain from his cracked ribs making itself known again.

One arm wrapped around his chest, he raised himself slowly from the metal chair and started towards the door. He glanced at his watch. 11:10 am.

He opened the door slowly; Bobby Cox was standing in the corridor. The older cop flashed a smile as he glanced past Steve into the room, the smile disappearing quickly. "Is he okay?" he asked worriedly, indicating Mike with his chin.

Steve stepped out into the corridor and let the door close behind him. "He's fine. He's just a little dehydrated so they wanted to give him some fluids. And they want to keep him in till tomorrow morning. He wasn't too happy about that but as soon as he laid down he fell asleep and he hasn't moved since, so I think he's not going to have much choice in the matter."

Cox nodded, relieved.

"So what's up?"

"We got the warrants. Newman and Jenkins are putting together the team to raid Coopers and the bodega and start making arrests. Coopers doesn't open till noon so they want to do it around 1 when they're sure everyone is there – both in the bar and the bodega." Cox hesitated, taking a step closer and dropping his voice.

"I, ah, I figured you'd want to be in on the action."

Steve stared at his colleague, a slow smile spreading across his bearded and battered face. "You figured right."

# # # # #

Steve and Cox were sitting in the back seat of an unmarked blue LTD on Harrison, several blocks from Coopers. They, along with over twenty other plainclothes and uniformed officers in nondescript vehicles scattered south of Market, were waiting for word from Newman to begin the sweep.

Steve had already been warned by both Newman and Jenkins that he was to remain in the car during the initial foray into the bar and the bodega. Though he didn't agree with, and argued vociferously against, his temporary benching, he understood that because he was not in top form, he could actually be a handicap to his colleagues. He would be allowed to go in after the first arrests had been made, he was told, and he knew he could wait; he had no desire to be a liability to anybody.

He glanced at his watch. 12:43. He took his sunglasses off and rubbed his tired eyes. Other than the couple of hours of uncomfortable sleep he'd managed to grab in the chair in the hospital room, he'd been up for over twenty-four hours.

Cox looked across the seat, staring at the younger man for a few seconds before asking, "What did he mean by, he 'was wondering when you were going to find him'?"

Steve stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at Cox, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"When we found Mike on the trawler last night? He said he was wondering when you were going to find him. Not 'if'… 'when'."

Steve shook his head in confusion then he smiled. "Oh, um, I, ah, I guess he just knows I would've never stopped looking for him, that's all."

Cox shook his own head. "No, that's not it and you know it." He paused and stared at his young colleague. "He has extraordinary faith in you, doesn't he?"

Swallowing heavily and putting the sunglasses back on, Steve turned to the windshield. "We're partners," he said quietly.

Cox stared at the Homicide inspector's profile, then turned to look out the side window. "Yeah, right, you're just partners," he muttered under his breath.


	19. Chapter 19

**Sorry again - had to fly across the country yesterday, so was a little busy...**

At three minutes to 1, the radio in the blue LTD crackled to life. _"It's a go, fellas. It's_ _a go."_

Bobby Cox looked across the back seat at Steve and nodded grimly as he opened the door and got out. With a frustrated sigh, the homicide inspector slumped down in the seat, watching his colleague start down Harrison. It was going to be a frustrating wait.

The minutes seemed to crawl by; he was getting antsy. At one point he opened the door and started to get out, then thought better of it and slammed the door angrily. He knew if he showed up at Coopers or the bodega before this initial raid had taken place that he would have to answer to authorities even higher than his partner, and facing Mike would be hard enough.

He wondered if Mike was awake yet. He hoped not; he hoped that this would all be over and done with and he could get back to the hospital without his partner even being aware that anything had happened.

He sat up and looked at the radio under the dashboard as if willing it to spring to life and let him know what was going on. Then with a short, low growl he opened the door and got out, slamming the door and starting down the street.

He was glancing around as he walked through the late lunch crowd down Harrison to the corner, now only a few short blocks from Coopers. He had no intention of barging in on the incursion; he just wanted to observe from a safe distance.

He started to slow down as he got to the corner, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out this pack of Marlboros and Zippo, using the ruse of lighting a cigarette to stop. He looked up from under his lowered brow in the direction of the bar and bodega but could see no discernibly abnormal activity. He hoped it was all going very smoothly and very safely.

He turned away, exhaling heavily, letting the smoke drift off in the soft cool breeze. He was about to start back up the street and away from the bar when a brand new cherry red Mustang pulled into a parking space up the block across the street from him. The flashy car caught his eye and he stepped into an office entranceway, instinct telling him that he needed to conceal himself.

He watched as the door opened and the driver emerged. He froze, every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. It was Danny, the bartender.

He watched as the tall, dark, muscular young man locked the car then started casually towards 8th, jamming the keys in his front jeans pocket, seemingly unaware of the events going on at his place of work. Danny turned the corner, heading towards Howard; Steve stepped out of the doorway and began to follow, hanging back and trying to remain hidden behind two tall businessmen carrying briefcases and talking animatedly.

Danny got to the corner, took a couple of steps, and froze. Steve did as well, ducking into another office doorway. The bartender was staring down Howard, towards Coopers, Steve knew, and his body language almost screamed panic. Danny took several small steps backwards then turned with a feigned casualness that belied the look of alarm in his eyes and started back up 8th.

Steve faced the office front door, pretending to light another cigarette but keeping his eyes on the reflection of the street behind him in the glass of the building doors. Danny walked past him quickly, oblivious to everything, it seemed, except the overpowering need to get back to his car and get out of there.

Taking the chance, knowing he had no other choice, Steve stepped out of the doorway and began to follow. He saw a slight twitch of the other man's head and ducked behind a businessman walking in front of him just as Danny dared a quick, almost frantic glance over his shoulder.

Reaching the corner of Harrison again, Danny started to break into a slow jog, trying to make it look like he was just in a hurry, not in a growing dread-filled haste to get out of the area. He fished unsuccessfully in his pocket for his keys, then had to waste several precious seconds stopping to get them out; his pants were too tight to do it on the move.

Using the opportunity, Steve turned the other way when he got to the corner and strode quickly towards the LTD. He didn't have the keys on him, but he knew a backup key was secreted in the glove box for just such an emergency.

As Danny got to the Mustang and fumbled to open the door, Steve got behind the wheel of the LTD, reaching across the front seat to pop open the glove box, pulling up the left corner of the carpeted bottom of the small compartment and picking up the key. He winced as he sat up straight again, annoyed at himself for giving in to the pain in his ribs.

He started the LTD just as Danny pulled away from the curb and headed down Harrison. He waited till the sports car was almost to the next corner before he turned the wheel as hard as he could, stepping on the gas and rocketing the large sedan into the street and cutting off a taxi, which honked loudly. He hoped Danny hadn't noticed the move, or heard the angry blast of the horn, in the rearview mirror but he really had no other choice.

But when the Mustang signaled then turned sedately onto11th, he knew he hadn't been seen. He followed at a discreet distance as the bartender drove calmly through the streets towards Van Ness and north. Eventually turning onto California, heading west, Steve dropped back even more; though the LTD was a fairly nondescript car, eventually its close proximity would be noticed. Caution was the watchword right now.

He glanced down at the radio under the dash, reaching for the mic then stopped. What he was doing, he knew, went against everything he had been warned about with regards to the department's current campaign. He had just broken every order he had been given by becoming involved. If he couldn't bring this little operation of his to a successful conclusion, he'd have to answer to more than just his partner, Newman and Jenkins. He would have to answer to the Chief.

# # # # #

The room was bright when he opened his eyes and he squinted, trying to get his bearings. He could feel the heavy blanket on top of him and the needle in his right forearm. He raised his head slightly and looked around the room.

"Damn," he whispered to himself as he let his head drop back onto the bed and closed his eyes. He hadn't wanted to be admitted to the hospital but he didn't really have a choice, and then when he fell asleep almost immediately after his head hit the pillow…

He knew Newman had been right to insist he be checked out by a doctor; it had been a harrowing two days of sedation, dehydration and exposure to a bitter and damp cold, not to mention being bound and confined. And he certainly wasn't as young as he used to be; he didn't snap back quite so quickly.

He opened his eyes again and followed the tube from his arm up to the bag hanging from the IV pole. It was clear and he was pretty sure it was a saline solution. He remembered the doctor ordering fluids when he was sitting on the examination table with Steve hovering nearby.

 _Steve_ , he thought, looking quickly around the small room; it was obvious his partner wasn't there. He laid his head back on the pillow again. He had no idea what time it was; his watch had been removed when he'd been admitted. He knew it was in the drawer of the small bedside table, but he was suddenly too drained to reach for it.

The past two days had taken more out of him than he had realized, or cared to admit. He was tired and he was cold. With his left hand, he reached down to pull the blanket a little higher; it felt heavier than he remembered hospital blankets being. He looked down; it was the gray blanket he had been given by the Coast Guard.

Smiling to himself, he pulled it up as far as he could, keeping his right arm with the IV on top, and closed his eyes again. Within seconds he was fast asleep.

# # # # #

The Mustang turned off California onto Palm Avenue and began to slow down, as if the driver was looking for an address or a place to park. Steve looked down Palm as he drove unhurriedly through the intersection, watching as the red sports car turned into a free spot about a block and a half down. He pulled the LTD to the curb on California and got out; he didn't care that it was in front of a fire hydrant.

He sprinted back to the corner in time to see Danny get out of the Mustang and head into a house on the west side of the street. He wasn't able to see which door, and he didn't want to get too close; he knew he would be recognized.

Frustrated, he stood just out of the sightlines of the row of dwellings on that side of the block. He had to decide what to do and he had to decide fast. He contemplated going back to the LTD and calling it in, asking for back-up, but pride was getting the better of him at the moment.

He had been sidelined for his own good he knew, but it still rankled him that now both he and his partner were no longer in charge of an investigation that they had initiated. And through neither of their own faults, he reflected almost angrily.

Almost subconsciously he put a hand on his taped ribs; he was still very sore and would be no match for anyone in a physical confrontation right now. He knew he would have to use his head. If there was one thing above all else he had learned from Mike in all the years they had been together, it was the value of coming up with a good plan of attack and keeping your head about you while putting it in motion.

His main disadvantage at the moment was that Danny knew him by sight. Not only that, but the bartender – and _point man_ in the Shanghai operation, as Mike had put it – was now on the run and would be becoming increasingly paranoid. He would be hyper vigilant, aware of everyone and everything around him. And that was not something Steve could take lightly.

He exhaled heavily in frustration, hoping he had not backed himself into a corner. Looking for inspiration, he let his eyes travel around the houses and businesses on the streets around him. He froze and his eyes widened. He turned slowly and looked back down Palm; the red sports car was still there.

With a self-satisfied smile and a nod, he hurried the half-block to the small shop on California and pulled open the glass door. A small bell chimed to announce his entrance.

# # # # #

A little more than ten minutes later, the glass door opened once more, and as the little bell rang again, a clean-shaven Steve Keller stepped out into the bright but chilly afternoon sunshine. He strode quickly to the corner and looked down the street.

The Mustang was still parked at the curb.


	20. Chapter 20

Rubbing a hand over his now clean-shaven chin, Steve started slowly down Palm, his eyes darting around, taking in every door and window as he approached the red Mustang. He became very aware of the weight of the .38 on his left hip, grateful that he'd brought it with him, even though he had been forbidden to participate in the raid on Coopers and the bodega.

He strolled casually past the sports car and continued down the street, stopping at the corner and looking around, as if he was new to the area and trying to get his bearings. He used the movement to steal a glance back up the street again, wishing he had seen exactly which building Danny had entered.

Suddenly he spun around and started up Palm towards California again, as if he had remembered which way he had to go. As he approached the Mustang once more he slowed his pace marginally as his dark-glasses-covered eyes snapped towards the license plate and he quickly memorized it.

He continued up the block and around the corner to the LTD, getting in behind the wheel and snagging the mic. "Inspectors 8-1, I need you to run some plates for me."

 _"_ _Go ahead, 8-1."_

"Yeah, it's a California plate 4-M-C-N-7-5-2. I need the name and address."

 _"_ _10-4, 8-1."_

Steve waited while the information was researched. He knew it might take a minute or two. He half-expected the dispatcher to come back and tell him he wasn't officially on duty and that they couldn't honour his request, so he was more than pleasantly surprised when the female voice interrupted his contemplation.

 _"_ _Inspectors 8-1, I have that information you requested."_

"Go ahead."

 _"_ _That plate is registered to a 1972 Mustang, color red. Owner is Daniel Ray Donaldson, address is 113C Palm Avenue."_

Steve had seen that building. "Thanks, Dispatch. That's all." He released the talk button and hung up the mic. So now he knew the address but he still hadn't come up with a plan.

He got quickly out of the LTD, taking off the leather jacket and dark glasses and tossing them onto the front seat. He slipped the holster off his belt on his left hip and slid it back onto the belt in the middle of his back, pulling out his shirt so it was covered. He then returned to Palm, heading down the street once more. This time he stayed close to the buildings, cutting down the angle so he wouldn't be seen until he was almost on top of the residence he was looking for; he reached behind his back and unsnapped the leather holster.

113 turned out to be one of the small apartment buildings that dotted that side of the street. He tried the wrought-iron gate that protected the front door, surprised when it opened, then catching his breath with a grimace when it squeaked. He froze and waited, straining to detect any noise from within that his presence had been announced. Hearing nothing, he slipped past the gate and opened the heavy wooden front door.

There were four small metal mailboxes built into one wall, a door with an 'A' and a peace symbol painted on it, and a short narrow staircase leading to a landing. The entire foyer badly needed a coat of paint.

Steve stepped to the foot of the staircase and looked up, unsure if he should press his luck and move further into the building. He would have to go past at least one more door before he got to 'C'.

Another of the infamous Stone's Axioms came to mind: never, ever go into a situation with too little information and not enough preparation, both of which, in the current situation, he had in spades. He was also alone.

He exhaled heavily and put his foot on the bottom step, reaching behind his back for the .38. He was just about to slip it out of the holster when he froze, hearing the creak of the wrought-iron gate. He dropped both hands to his sides and turned quickly to the mailboxes, pretending to study the names, as two young women opened the wooden door and stepped into the lobby.

They both stopped short, glancing at each other nervously, and he looked at them and smiled, turning on the Keller charm. "Oh, ah, sorry to startle you…" he began with a disarming friendliness.

"Can we help you?" the first girl asked pointedly, staring at him under knitted brows, not responding in the usual infatuated way he had come to expect.

Slightly taken aback, Steve hesitated, not completely involuntarily. "I, ah, yeah, I hope so, I'm looking for a friend. Bobby, ah, Bobby Sullivan. I thought this was the address that he gave me but I can't find his name on the mailboxes."

The first girl glanced at her friend; neither of them was smiling or showing the least inclination to help him out. "There's no one named Bobby living here," the first one informed him pointedly, "and I've been here for two years. You've got the wrong apartment."

"Oh, ah, sorry, I thought he said 113. I musta got it wrong, sorry," Steve finished lamely. He didn't move, making no effort whatsoever to leave.

Both girls eyed him stonily, and he realized they were not going anywhere until he left.

Clearing his throat, he said under his breath, "Well, I'll, ah, I'll see if he's living next door." He started to push past them towards the door. They moved sullenly out of the way for him to pass. "Uh, sorry I, ah, sorry…" He pulled open the wooden door and walked out, grimacing at the squeak from the gate once more as he exited onto the street.

He glanced back at the building, then started for the one on the right, as if he was really looking for the fictitious Bobby Sullivan, in case anyone was watching. But when he was satisfied no one was, he started up the street again towards the LTD. He didn't want to risk another stunt like that; he knew he had gotten away with playing into the hands of fate. Chances were Danny Donaldson wasn't alone and he could have strolled into a very serious, perhaps deadly, confrontation, all because he didn't listen to his inner voice.

He snickered to himself as he strode purposefully up the street. _My inner voice, my ass,_ he thought, _it's Mike's voice I hear in my head in these kind of situations, not my own._ For a brief second a smile washed over his face, a warmth through his body. He wondered if his partner was still asleep, recovering. He hoped so.

He returned to the LTD, gratified not to find a parking ticket, and drove around the block, getting back onto California then turning onto Palm. He parked near the corner of California, tucked in behind a gardener's pick-up truck but still able to see the side and one back light of the Mustang halfway up the next block. He chuckled to himself: thank god Danny had lived up to the stereotype and bought a car that stood out so easily.

He lifted the dark glasses briefly to glance at his watch. 2:16. It felt so much later, he thought, and once again he wondered how things had gone at Coopers and the bodega. He had just taken off the dark glasses to rub his eyes when he noticed the front wheels on the Mustang turn and suddenly it shot out onto the street.

Tossing the glasses on the seat beside him, he started the car and threw it into Drive, slamming his foot down on the gas. Tires squealing, the large sedan almost leapt from the parking space as Steve cranked the wheel, steadying the rocking car as he slowed then rolled through the stop sign at Euclid, trying to keep the Mustang in sight.

The sports car turned onto Geary, heading west, but it wasn't going much above the speed limit, and Steve knew that Danny, most likely now running for his freedom if not his life, didn't want to call undue attention to the hard-to-miss cherry red coupe.

Steve followed at a safe distance. If there was one thing he excelled at more than any other, it was his ability to tail another car. Even the sometimes hard-to-please Mike Stone admitted that he had never met nor worked with anyone who could do it better. This, though, would be the ultimate test of his abilities, he knew; there was a lot riding on his skill and experience right now.

The Mustang was moving steadily west on Geary and Steve realized they were heading towards Park Presidio Blvd. and most likely the Bridge. _Sausilito?_ he wondered. It wasn't exactly an out-of-the-blue assumption; after all, the fishing boat with the abductees had originated in Sausilito. Did Newman and Jenkins have the pier there covered? He couldn't remember.

As he kept his eye on Danny's car, which was making full and timely stops at all the lights and obeying the speed limits, he couldn't resist a tiny smile. Unfortunately, Divisadero was behind them; that street had been made famous as a result of the film "Bullitt". Mike hated that movie, he knew, saying it gave the police department a bad name, just like the "Dirty Harry" movies. But for a brief moment Steve wondered what it would feel like if he and Danny Donaldson recreated that iconic car chase down that very steep street; after all, he _was_ an SFPD homicide inspector and Danny _was_ driving a Mustang.

But the cherry red coupe turned slowly onto Park Presidio, heading for the 101 and towards the Bridge.

Steve dropped back even more when they got to the 101. It was easy to keep the Mustang in sight, and he knew the spooked bartender must be looking over his shoulder. As commonplace as the unmarked police car was, eventually it would be noticed if every time Danny looked in the rearview mirror, it was there.

Just across the bridge, the sports car turned onto Alexander Avenue, heading towards Sausilito. Steve dropped back even further. He knew now that Danny was heading to the pier; he could afford to drop out of sight behind him and allow the Mustang to temporarily disappear.

He pulled over briefly to allow a couple of cars to pass then slid back out onto Alexander, heading into the sleepy little fishing village. He turned off the main road at the southern end of the large marina; he remembered from the briefings that the fishing boats were moored at the upper end of the northernmost pier. There was a small parking lot and he pulled into an open space and got out.

He looked around but couldn't see the Mustang. He could feel his anxiety rising; had he made a miscalculation? Was Danny _not_ going to the pier after all and had gone somewhere else instead? Had he blown his one and only chance to slap the cuffs on the man who had drugged his partner and arranged for his kidnapping?

It was warm in Marin County and he left the leather jacket in the car as he started towards the marina. There were a lot of people milling around, enjoying the sights of the brightly-coloured boats and houses; some of them were tourists, he knew, others boat owners, the rest locals. It was a little easier for him to blend into the crowd here than in the city but he still knew he had to be careful.

He fell in behind a group of young people in shorts and tied-dyed t-shirts heading for one of the boats. In his jeans and burgundy shirt he really didn't fit in but he thought it was less obvious than trailing a bunch of tourists in Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts and sandals with white socks.

Steve was halfway down the marina when he spotted it; the red Mustang was parked out of sight behind a large Suburban. He wasn't sure if it was intentional or accidental.

Glancing over his shoulder to see if he was being watched, he stepped quickly to the side of the Suburban away from the car and slipped the .38 from behind his back, raising it in front of his face, barrel up. He moved quietly to the front of the van, straining to hear anything that would let him know that Danny was still near the vehicle, though he assumed he was not at this point.

Lowering the revolver and putting both hands on the grip, he spun around the front of the Suburban, dropping instinctively into a shooting stance. No one was there. He was just about to bring the gun back up to a safe position when he felt the pressure of smooth, cold steel behind his right ear. A deep voice growled, "Don't…. move…"


	21. Chapter 21

Steve inhaled deeply through his nose, trying not to move. The cold smooth metal pressed behind his right ear shifted slightly; he heard a soft rustling sound as a hand came up and took the .38 from his grip.

"You really ought to be more careful, you know. I mean, you gotta look in your _own_ rearview mirror once in a while," the deep voice purred, surprising him with a tinge of humour.

Steve turned his head slowly to see Bobby Cox grinning at him, holstering his own .38 as he held Steve's out to him, shaking his head and chuckling.

"What the hell…?" the homicide inspector asked in a loud whisper, exhaling loudly as he took his gun back. He looked over Cox's shoulder; he couldn't see anybody else. "Were you following me?"

Cox chuckled. "Well, Cole and I were actually following Danny… you sorta got in the way."

" _You_ were following Danny? I didn't see you."

"Well, you weren't expecting to see us, were you? Besides, you aren't the only great tail-er in the department." Cox looked over his shoulder. "Come on, Cole's back there," he said, gesturing with his head back towards the south end of the marina. He turned, looking quickly all around before leaving the cover of the Suburban and heading back in the direction he had come.

With a quick glance over his shoulder at the Mustang, Steve followed, his heart pounding, more from embarrassment than tension he acknowledged.

Cole Harrison was sitting behind the wheel of a maroon Galaxie, staring through the windshield across the parking lot towards the boats. He didn't even glance over as Cox got into the front seat beside him, Steve in the back.

"Anything?" Cox asked and Harrison shook his head.

"He got onto that red and yellow boat right there," the black undercover cop said slowly, pointing through the windshield, "and as far as I can tell, he's alone. He disappeared into the cabin and he hasn't come out yet."

"Think he's waiting for someone?"

"Well, it doesn't look like he's getting the boat ready to head out yet, so… maybe…?"

Harrison looked in the rearview mirror. "Hi, Steve, welcome to Operation Slow Boat to China." His deep baritone laughter filled the car. "Oh, ah, thanks for being so easy to tail…!" he chuckled evilly, shaking his head.

"Ha ha ha," Steve muttered sarcastically, "I really wasn't expecting you, you know. I thought –"

"You thought maybe we didn't notice that Danny wasn't in the bar?" Cox interrupted, turning in the front seat to face him, his eyes wide and questioning, his tone light and playful. "We're not rookies, you know."

Steve smirked, knowing they were giving him a hard time in jest.

"Besides, weren't you told to stay in the car?"

"I _was_ in the car," the homicide inspector shot back, pointing over his shoulder towards the first parking lot where the LTD was parked. "Nobody ever said I couldn't _take_ the car."

"Unh-hunh, and that stroll up Palm? Oh, ah, like the new look, by the way."

"Yeah, I wouldn'ta recognized you right away if I'd only seen you in that beard," Harrison added, watching his younger colleague in the rearview mirror again.

Realizing that he wasn't going to win this little battle, and that Cox and Harrison had been following him since he spotted Danny near Coopers, Steve sighed and slumped in the seat, chuckling dryly and shaking his head. "So, ah, so what's the battle plan?"

Cox glanced at Harrison, as if trying to make up his mind about sharing their strategy with the young inspector. Harrison chuckled and Cox sighed. "Well, we're not sure if Danny is meeting anyone here. But the Coast Guard is on standby in case we need them, in case he heads out to sea on that thing. For now, we're just going to sit here and see if he's meeting up with anybody else. If things stay quiet for awhile, we may have to move in." Cox looked over the back of the seat again. "And by _we,_ I mean Cole and me. You're still on the bench, remember?"

Steve sighed loudly but continued to meet Cox's smiling eyes. "How did it go at the bar?"

"Smooth as fine scotch," Harrison chuckled again. "They didn't know what hit 'em."

"Yeah, we just strolled into Coopers and pulled out our stars and everyone's hands just shot into the air. It was almost like they were expecting us."

"And the bodega?"

"Gary and Kyle were right about that, no doubt about it. We didn't get a chance to see it ourselves," Cox answered, gesturing towards Harrison, "'cause when we noticed Danny wasn't there, and going off what Mike said about him, we headed back out on the street. One of the guys in Coopers finally told us his last name and we got his plate and car make from R&I…. before you did," he finished with a laugh.

Steve rolled his eyes, bobbling his head with a snort.

"Kind of an easy car to spot, ain't it?" Harrison asked with a deep chuckle, staring into the rearview mirror once again.

This time Steve joined in the laughter. "Sure made my life easier," he grinned. "So, ah, the bodega… What was going on there? A false wall between the two buildings?"

Cox shook his head, continuing to stare at the red and yellow boat. "Not a wall, a door, can you believe it? From what we've heard, they have this big room down there, like a cold storage, but it's full of hooks dangling from the ceiling and rings bolted to the wall, sort of like the hold. Looks like they can keep fifteen, twenty guys in there. Brutal."

Steve shivered involuntarily; Mike had been tied up and drugged senseless in there for over a day. He sat up a little straighter in the back seat and stared through the window. More than ever he wanted to get his hands on Danny, to get a little justice for his partner.

"So, ah," he began tentatively, "do, ah, do Gary or Kyle know I'm here?"

Cox turned in the seat again, looking straight into the younger man's eyes. "You mean did we rat on you?"

Steve could see Harrison looking at him in the rearview mirror. He nodded slightly.

Cox smiled. "No. Now they may have noticed that the LTD is gone by now and figured out what happened… but Cole and I haven't said a word."

Steve stared at him expressionlessly then nodded gratefully. "Thanks, I, ah, I appreciate that."

"Hey," Harrison said quietly, "we all have partners, Steve." His eyes locked with the homicide inspector's for a couple of seconds, then snapped back towards the windshield. "Bobby…"

All three turned their attention back to the fishing trawler that Danny Donaldson was hiding on. There was movement on the deck. A dark-haired head had poked out of the cabin door but at this distance they couldn't tell if it was Danny or not. Whoever it was was looking towards the pier. No one in the car moved. They were far enough away to be pretty certain they wouldn't be spotted, but they also didn't want to call attention to themselves.

The head disappeared back inside the cabin and the cops relaxed. Cox looked at Harrison. "I think he's waiting for someone."

"So do I."

All three settled back on the seats, prepared to wait as long as necessary.

# # # # #

It was just after six when Captain Rudy Olsen pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped quietly into the hospital room. The lights had been dimmed.

The occupant of the bed was in a deep sleep, his chest rising and falling with a comforting regularity. Olsen had spoken with the attending nurse before he'd entered. He knew his lieutenant was still battling the sedatives that remained in his system and would most likely be out for the remainder of the night.

But he had also been told that Mike's fluids were back to normal and he no longer needed the IV, and that he would indeed be released in the morning. So the news on this front was the best that it could be.

He stared down at his old friend, grateful that things were turning out as well as could be expected. Both Mike and Steve had taken a risk using themselves as bait, and though the younger man had come of it with the more serious injuries, both of their lives had been on the line.

' _Where_ is _Steve?'_ the captain wondered idly. He would have bet his last dollar that the young inspector would be keeping vigil at his partner's bedside. These two were like that.

With a facial shrug, he gently patted Mike's leg and turned slowly to leave the room.

# # # # #

"Heads up," Bobby Cox hissed, turning slightly as something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

A sky-blue Plymouth Duster was approaching from behind on their right and all three cops slouched in the seats. It was getting close to dusk; all of the tourists had left for the day. The only foot traffic on the wharf was boat owners returning from a day on the water, but even they were thinning out. There were no lights on inside the cop car and they were nowhere near any of the light standards; they were pretty confident they hadn't been noticed.

The Duster continued down the pier and pulled into a spot very close to the Mustang. They saw the dome light snap on as the driver's door opened and someone got out. The light went out when the door closed and the driver crossed around the back of the sports car, headed towards the red and yellow trawler.

Cox and Harrison looked at each other. "I think that's our cue," Cox said, inhaling deeply and raising his eyebrows. As he reached for the door handle, he looked towards the back seat, meeting Steve's eyes. "You stay here, do you hear me? We're gonna catch enough flak for allowing you to follow Danny and then to stay here with us. Don't make our lives any more difficult right now than they already are, okay?"

Steve stared into the intense dark eyes for several long beats then he nodded, briefly closing his eyes. "I'll stay."

"Good man. We'll be right back. And we just might let you beat the crap out of Danny and tell the brass he tried to run. How does that sound?" Cox was halfway out the door.

Steve allowed himself a laugh. "That sounds like a great idea. Be careful," he ordered as the doors closed and he watched Cox and Harrison unholster their .38's, both of them checking the cylinders, an unnecessary but reflexive habit a lot of cops had.

The undercover officers hugged the back bumpers of the cars and trucks still parked along the pier side of the wharf, their eyes glued to the newcomer. The Duster driver had approached the trawler and they watched him walk down the short pier to the boat and step aboard.

Steve watched as Cox and Harrison cautiously approached the trawler. They were just about to step onto the pier when headlights suddenly shining through the back window illuminated the Galaxie. He ducked quickly, raising his head slightly as the large black sedan sped into the parking lot and slid to a stop on the gravel road about fifty feet ahead of him, kicking up dust.

The door of the black sedan flew open and a big, dark-haired man got out swiftly. In the dim glow from the dome light, Steve could see a large, long barreled revolver in the man's hand and, as he strode rapidly towards the pier, he raised it. And, for a split second, Steve was sure he saw a silencer being screwed onto the barrel.

Looking over the front seat at the radio, Steve contemplated calling for back-up but knew he didn't have the time. He opened the back door and slid out quickly, shutting it as quietly as he could to turn the dome light off.

Running as silently as possible, following the big man towards the trawler, he unsnapped his own .38 from his belt and held it up. Cox and Harrison were nowhere to be seen; he assumed they were now on the trawler with Danny and the Duster driver, unaware of the third man with the large caliber firearm rapidly approaching.

Knowing he was out of time, he broke into a run, no longer worried that his footfalls would be heard all around the now quiet marina. Lives were at stake, and that was all that mattered.


	22. Chapter 22

He moved his head slowly, attempting to open his eyes. Everything he tried to do felt like he was moving through molasses. Finally getting his eyelids to cooperate, he waited till his lenses focused enough to make out the pale green ceiling lit by the dull glow of the small fluorescent light under the panel behind his head.

He had no idea what time it was, only that is was now dark outside, but he did know where he was and why he was there. The flush of energy he had experienced when he'd first been rescued from the trawler had dissipated with mind-boggling speed and he had crashed, as they said in the vernacular.

He raised his head and looked around the room. There was no sign of his partner and he let his head flop back onto the pillow. His brow furrowed as he tried to recall what had woken him, smiling when he remembered, or thought he did.

He had felt a hand on his leg and a soft pat. _'Steve,'_ he smiled to himself, _'he had to leave and he was letting me know he was here and would be back.'_ He allowed himself to drift back to sleep, the smiling lingering.

' _Yeah, it was my partner, he was here all this time… of course he was…"_

# # # # #

Steve was running as fast as he could. The stranger with the big gun was getting closer to the pier and the trawler; he couldn't let him get there.

He briefly contemplated yelling to warn Cox and Harrison but if his colleagues had not yet made their presence known to Danny and the unknown man on the boat, he would be tipping their hand.

He had no choice; he had to take out this third man on his own.

He saw the gunman's long strides falter and his pace slow, no doubt aware of the running footsteps rapidly approaching. Steve watched as the other man spun, saw light from a parking lot lamp glint off the barrel of the large revolver, and he threw himself to the side, behind a pickup truck. He cried out in agony as he hit the ground hard, his injured ribs protesting, the breath briefly leaving his body.

Almost blacking out from the pain, he gasped, trying to inhale, trying to get air into his lungs. Blood was pounding in his ears and he strained to hear something, anything, to let him know where the gunman was. He thought he heard footsteps getting closer and he rolled, almost throwing himself under the pickup truck, hoping that the other man hadn't seen exactly where he had disappeared.

Breathing raggedly through his open mouth, trying to slow his breaths and his heart, he rolled as silently as possible onto his stomach, pushing himself up on his elbows, holding the .38 in both hands as he tried to hear the slightest sound that would give him a location.

He heard nothing.

Fearing that the gunman had decided his first target was more important at the moment and was continuing on to the boat, he started to very carefully work his way out from under the truck when he heard gravel crunching underfoot very nearby and he froze. The sound came from behind him, from the other side of the truck.

He turned his head slowly; almost silently a pair of black biker boots under black pants came into view between the pickup and the van beside it.

Steve's heart began to pound even more; he felt sure the thudding in his chest could be heard.

The boots walked slowly between the pickup and the van. Steve watched as the boots turned towards the van and stopped; then the gunman squatted quickly, looking under the van.

The cop had anticipated the move and, when the man in black crouched, he rolled quickly out from under the pickup on the other side, scrambling to hide behind the large front wheel. He realized he had made a lot of noise but there was nothing else he could do; he would have been a sitting duck under the pickup and he knew it.

He heard the gunman turn, the sound of the boots on the gravel, and knew he would be looking under the pickup, aware that he had found his quarry. Steve's options now were very limited.

His back against the truck tire, he raised the .38 and took a deep breath. Every muscle in his body tensed as he started to move, knowing he would only have one chance.

Suddenly the sound of gunfire came from the pier and he froze. All at once the stakes were exponentially higher; he had to act and he had to act now, no matter what the consequences.

He spun back to his left, ignoring the pain in his chest, dropping to his knees and aiming the .38 under the pickup. He could see the boots and jeans still between the pickup and the van and he fired several times.

One of his bullets hit its target with an accompanying yell of pain and surprise; he watched as the left leg was jerked out from under the gunman and he fell hard to the ground. Steve turned back to the protectiveness of the heavy truck tire, instinctively knowing that the gunman would still have the presence of mind to fire in his direction. And he did.

He heard a thud and a loud hiss as a bullet punctured the tire right behind him; the rest flew harmlessly by.

Steve pushed himself away from the pickup, standing and crossing rapidly around the front of the truck, his .38 out in front of him. "Freeze!" he yelled as he stopped between the truck and the van, the barrel of the service revolver trained on the large bearded dark-haired man lying on the ground, a silver .44 in his right hand. "Don't move… or the next bullet will be right through your heart," he growled menacingly, and he knew the other man believed him.

"Throw it over here," he continued, gesturing with his chin towards the .44, "now!"

The other man hesitated, their stares locked. Steve tightened his grip on his revolver and saw the dark eyes shift very slightly as they left his own and glanced at the Police Special. The .44 began to lower and Steve watched without blinking as the other man's hand dropped and he tossed the large revolver towards him.

The young cop kicked the .44 under the pickup and out of reach. "Turn over!" he ordered, gesturing with the .38.

The man stared at him threateningly but did as he was told, trying not to show any discomfort as Steve kicked his legs apart, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Put your hands behind your back! Now!"

As the gunman did so, Steve realized he didn't have his handcuffs with him. He glanced around, looking for something, anything he could use to bind his prisoner. With an ironic start, he remembered where he was and looked over the lip of the cargo bed on the pickup truck; curled on the floor of the bed were several lengths of nylon rope.

"Steve!" he heard his name being yelled; he recognized Bobby Cox's voice. "Steve!"

Still keeping the .38 trained on the gunman as he reached for a length of nylon rope, he raised his head slightly and called back, "Yeah?"

"Call for an ambulance! Officer down!"

There was a desperation in Cox's voice that sent a chill down his spine, but he kept his eyes and his gun trained on his captive as he began to kneel, the rope in his left hand.

"Got it!" he yelled as he knelt on the other man's back, moving his right foot so it was near the wound in the other man's leg. He knew he might have to use questionable methods to get this guy tied up and restrained but he was running out of time; a colleague's life might be hanging in the balance.

Trying to figure out how he was going to tied the big man's hands with only one hand of his own, and realizing the gunman knew this as well, he did the only thing he could do. He raised the .38 and brought it down with all his might on the back of the man's head.

He heard the startled gasp and moan of pain as the gunman's head jerked up, his eyes snapping wide before they closed and his head dropped onto the dirt and gravel. Forcing down the bile that had risen in the back of his throat, he put the .38 on the ground, grabbed the rope and quickly tied the man's hands.

Picking up the gun and standing, he raced back to the Galaxie, getting in the driver's seat and picking up the mic. "Inspectors 8-1," he identified himself, but there was no response. He listened to the static for a couple of seconds and tried again but still nothing.

Realizing that they were out of radio range this far into Marin County, he got out of the car and sprinted to the marina building. It was closed. Frustrated, his chest really beginning to ache, he looked around. There were a few houses a couple of hundred yards away on the road that ran along the western edge of the marina and he started towards them, looking for the one that he figured would be the most accommodating.

As he broke into a fast jog, he patted his pockets. He had remembered to slip his badge and I.D. into his pants pocket, and he allowed himself a moment of relief.

He found a house with both porch and interior lights on and ran up the short walkway and the small set of steps to the front door. He rang the bell. He was tempted to pound on the door as well but didn't want to scare the inhabitants from answering.

A few tense seconds later the door opened a few inches and a grey-haired middle-aged woman in a granny dress stared at him wide-eyed. He had taken out his badge and held it up. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am," he began quickly, trying to control his heavy breathing and not sound like a madman, "I'm Inspector Keller from the SFPD and I need you to make a couple of phone calls for me."

She opened the door a few more inches and his heart soared; she believed him.

"Ma'am, there's been a police involved shooting over in the marina," he continued quickly, gesturing with his head behind him, "and I need you to call for two ambulances and the police, if you could? An officer has been shot."

The woman, who had looked over his shoulder towards the marina, nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes I can do that," she said shakily and started to close the door.

"Thank you, ma'am," Steve said enthusiastically, nodding his head as he slipped his badge back into his pocket and started to turn away. "Thank you," he called again as he leapt down the short set of stairs and started back towards the marina. He heard the door close behind him.

He raced back across the road and through the parking lot. A few boat owners and local residents, who had heard the gunfire, were crowding around under the few lampposts dotted about the wharf area. A couple of older man were standing in the parking lot between the van and the pickup, looking at the black clad man with the leg wound who was lying on his stomach with his hands tied behind his back.

Steve ignored everyone as he sprinted towards the trawler, his .38 out again. His chest was on fire and he was having a hard time drawing breath. He wanted to stop running but he couldn't. A cop, most likely Harrison, was down and he didn't know how badly. This had started out as his and Mike's operation, and any blood spilled would be on their hands, he felt.

There had already been one death; he could not allow another.


	23. Chapter 23

His .38 held barrel up in front of his face, Steve slowed as he got closer to the pier. He tried to move as quickly and quietly as he could, straining to hear anything that would give him some indication of what had gone on and might still be going on in the trawler cabin. He thought he could hear low moaning.

"Bobby!" he yelled.

"Steve, get in here!" Cox called back, the tension evident in his voice.

Hustling to the boat as quickly as he could, Steve jumped down onto the deck and approached the small cabin. The first thing he saw when he stepped through the open door was the Duster driver lying facedown, unmoving, on the floor in a large pool of blood. Danny also lying on the floor on his belly, but his hands were cuffed behind his back and he was definitely alive and seemingly unhurt.

Satisfied that both were subdued, Steve looked behind the cabin door. Cox was kneeling beside Harrison, who was sitting up against the cabin wall. Harrison's eyes were closed, his sweat-streaked face contorted in a grimace of pain. He had both hands pressed against his belly, blood seeping between his fingers. Cox had his right hand over Harrison's in what seemed to be a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Oh god," almost silently escaped Steve's lips as he knelt beside his colleagues. He looked at Cox. "What do you need me to do?"

In the distance, they could hear the faint wail of an approaching ambulance. "I want you to get out of here," Cox said, gesturing with his head towards the door Steve had just come through.

"What?" The homicide inspector was confused. "What are you talking about?"

""Leave," Harrison managed to get out through the pain, gasping at the effort.

Cox glanced at his partner then back at Steve. "Get your ass out of here now, before the ambulance gets here. You're not supposed to be here. Go!"

Steve hesitated for a second, began to stand, then stopped. "No, I can't, you need –"

"We need you to get outa here," Harrison gasped again.

Steve slowly got to his feet, unsure of what to do. "Listen, ah, there's a guy tied up in the parking lot. I think he was coming to off these two. I got the drop on him. He's unconscious and has a leg wound."

Cox nodded quickly. "We'll figure out something. You don't know anything about him, okay? Now get out of here!"

They could hear the ambulance getting closer; it sounded like it was coming into the marina.

With a nod, Steve holstered his .38 and turned, moving quickly to the prow of the boat and jumping onto the pier. He could see the lights of the ambulance as it sped across the gravel parking lot. He wanted to direct it towards the boat but knew he couldn't. He ran down the pier as unobtrusively as he could, reaching the parked vehicles, then slipped between a station wagon and a large van, moving away from the trawler.

He heard the ambulance slow to a stop and the siren snap off. "Over here!" he heard Cox yell and the ambulance started to roll again.

Holding his breath, hoping the assembled by-standers were paying more attention to the ambulance and the trawler than to him, Steve wove his way past the cars and trucks towards the small parking lot at the southern entrance to the marina. He could hear more sirens in the distance.

The ache in his chest was making itself felt again, and he wrapped his left arm around his ribs as he fished for the car keys with his right hand. He glanced over his shoulder; the ambulance attendants were getting out, one of them removing the gurney as the other hurried onto the boat with a black bag in his hand.

With a satisfied nod, Steve approached the LTD. He had just closed the door and inserted the key in the ignition when a Sausilito PD cruiser raced into the marina, lights and sirens. It screamed past the unmarked SFPD car towards the ambulance.

Starting the LTD but leaving the lights off, Steve threw the large sedan into reverse, spun it so it was facing the exit and took off before the local cop car slid to stop. He drove carefully to avoid undue attention then, when he was out of sight of the marina, turned on the lights and sped up.

He was shaking, from physical discomfort and pure adrenaline. He knew Cox and Harrison were right, that he had to make himself scarce for a number of reasons, not the least of which was jurisdictional. They had reason, and authorization, to be there; he did not, and his presence could be a legal nightmare.

But he was worried about Harrison.

He was driving the speed limit along Alexander Avenue, knowing there was a chance he would be passing another responding cop car. His heart was still pounding with worry and anger as he tried to figure out what he wanted, and needed, to do next.

Suddenly making up his mind, he swung the LTD to the shoulder near the turn for Bunker Avenue and turned it off. He snapped on the dome light and glanced at his watch. 7:41. He shook his head, astounded that it was still that early. The sun had gone down and it was cold enough to keep the windows up, but he thought for sure it must have been closer to midnight.

So much had happened in such a short expanse of time.

He turned the dome light off and hunkered down on the front seat to wait.

# # # # #

Less than ten minutes later the sound of a siren, approaching from behind, made him sit up a little straighter in the seat, staring into the rearview mirror. The ambulance came into view, moving quickly, lights flashing, and shot past him; he knew they were taking Harrison to The City and the trauma unit at SF General.

He closed his eyes; he wasn't a praying man but with every fibre in his body he hoped that help for Harrison had not come too late.

# # # # #

Twenty minutes later, two unmarked cars with cherries on the roofs came racing up Alexander towards the marina; he knew they were coming from San Francisco. He had seen them approaching and ducked down in the front seat, hoping the blue LTD wasn't recognized. He knew that the dark blue sedan that shot past him in the lead was the one Newman and Jenkins were using.

He watched as the two cars disappeared from sight then got out of the car and sat on the trunk, facing towards Sausilito. He figured he didn't have long to wait.

# # # # #

A little more than an hour later, the car he was anticipating finally came into view. The headlights illuminated him, still sitting on the back of the blue LTD, and the maroon Galaxie pulled off the pavement onto the dirt shoulder. The lights went out as Steve slid off the LTD and approached the driver's side window. Bobby Cox was behind the wheel.

"They've taken Cole to General," Cox said by way of greeting.

Steve nodded, bending down towards the window. "How does it look?"

Cox bobbled his head, his features creased with worry. "They think he's going to make it but…" He sighed and swallowed.

Steve nodded, glancing into the back seat where Danny Donaldson was sitting handcuffed.

"Ah, Gary and Kyle and some of the other guys are here –" Cox began.

"Yeah, they came whipping by about an hour ago," Steve filled him in. "Are they taking over?"

"Yeah. That guy you shot? They've taken him into Sausilito; his wound isn't all that serious. I told them I got the drop on him – that's what Cole and I agreed we'd say. Seems like your shot was a through-and-through so there's no bullet yet, but they might find it eventually. _Then_ you're gonna have some explaining to do, but for now…"

"What about the crack on the back of his head?"

Cox smirked dryly. "Yeah, ah, that was hard to explain at first, but then I said when I shot him he fell backwards so he must have hit his head when he fell…" He shrugged and shook his head bewilderedly. "The best I could come up with so fast. But he did see you, right? So when he describes you, without the beard now so you and I don't look all that alike anymore, I don't know how we're gonna get around that one. If we're lucky, he'll keep his mouth shut – which is what he's doing right now…"

Steve nodded, mulling over all the challenges ahead of them if they wanted to keep his presence under wraps.

"Anyway, ah," Cox continued, "Gary and Kyle are going to stay here for awhile and work with the Sausilito cops, try to get an I.D. on the dead guy through his car registration. Same for the still living guy with the – Jesus Christ, did you see that gun of his? Oh yeah of course you did."

Steve nodded quickly and shrugged.

"Jeez, he was going to go all Dirty Harry on us from the looks of it. Thank god you were there." His dark eyes met the younger man's green ones, managing to convey his thanks that things hadn't turned out worse than they actually did.

Cox smiled slightly and reached for the door handle. Steve took a step back, allowing him to open the door and get out. Without a word, Cox walked around to the off-road side of the car and opened the back door, Steve on his heels.

Reaching into the back, Cox grabbed Danny's arm and pulled him from the car, propelling the younger man to the back of the car and pushing him against the fender. The bartender stared at the cop defiantly but allowed himself to be pushed around.

Cox took a step back and Steve took his place. Danny stared at him without a trace of recognition.

Steve waited several long seconds then said quietly, "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Am I supposed to?" There was an impressive tinge of defiance in the deep voice as he sneered.

With a deep chuckle, Steve reached up and pulled the now dirty white bandage off the stitches over his right eyebrow. "Remember this?" he asked quietly.

All expression disappeared from Danny's face, and Steve grinned.

"You remember me now?" Slowly he reached into his pocket and took out his star and I.D. He opened the leather case and held it about an inch from the bartender's nose.

"You got nothin' on me," Danny said dismissively.

Steve chuckled mirthlessly as he shut the case and put it back in his pocket with a studied deliberateness. "You're right there, _I_ don't have anything on you, but my partner does."

Danny's eyes narrowed.

"You remember my partner, I'm positive of that. His name is Mike Stone, Lieutenant Mike Stone, but you know him as Archie Richardson."

The bartender's eyes shot wide and he inhaled sharply through his nose as his head snapped back.

"He's in the hospital right now getting all those drugs you plied him with out of his system. But he's gonna be okay. I know he'd want to be standing here right now so he could, you know, let you know how he feels about you drugging him and trying to sell him to ocean pirates… in this day and age…" Steve stopped and shook his head, looking almost impressed. "I gotta admit, who woulda thought about bringing the old Shanghai'ing business back to The City? Gotta give you, or whoever thought this up, some credit… it's pretty original."

Steve took a step back and smiled. "Mike was the one who figured it out. None of us really believed him at first, but he was right… wasn't he?" He stared at Danny evenly, his face losing all emotion except a deep, seething anger. "So, ah, so this is for him… and for me."

Without a moment's hesitation, Steve drew his right fist back quickly and planted a roundhouse punch on Danny's slack, unsuspecting jaw. The taller man's head snapped back and he bent backwards over the trunk of the Galaxie. As Steve took a step back and shook his right arm, trying to shake off the pain that coursed through his hand, a chuckling Bobby Cox grabbed Danny and pushed him back into the car. As he shut the door, he grinned at Steve before jogging around the front of the Galaxie and getting back in.

Steve stood on the shoulder and watched as the unmarked car pulled back onto Alexander and headed towards San Francisco. Flexing his sore right hand, he walked slowly to the LTD and got behind the wheel.


	24. Chapter 24

He opened his eyes. He was slightly surprised to see the room was still quite dark, but at this time of the year that was to be expected. He had no idea what time it was but he was pretty sure he had slept through most of the previous day and all night uninterrupted.

The lethargy that had immobilized him was gone and he actually felt rested, though he was loathe to move; after two days of being drugged and tied up in the dark and the cold, even a hospital bed felt luxurious.

Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath then let it out slowly, pulling the heavy blanket around him, reveling in the warmth. He lay still, listening to the sounds of the hospital coming to life on the other side of the heavy wooden door.

He started slightly when he heard a soft breath and the rustling of clothes that seemed to come from inside the room. He lifted his head, then smiled.

Steve, still in his leather jacket, was sound asleep in one of the sturdy black metal and canvas chairs. He had pulled it against the far wall so he could lean his head against it; his legs were stretched out and crossed, his hands folded atop his stomach. And while he wasn't snoring, he was breathing heavily through his open mouth.

With a chuckle, Mike let his head drop back onto the bed. As much as he wanted to get out of there and back to work, to contribute what he could towards the capture and conviction of whoever was running the 'press gang' out of The City, for some reason he didn't want to disturb his sleeping partner. He'd been able to sleep, deeply, through the night; he seemed to remember Steve being with him when they arrived at the hospital, straight from the Coast Guard Station, in the early hours of the previous morning.

But he also remembered briefly waking during the night to find the younger man gone. He had no idea when Steve had returned but he had obviously been back for quite awhile. He wouldn't be discharged for a couple of hours at least, he knew, so why not let the boy get some much deserved sleep until then.

With a warm smile, he closed his eyes once more, snuggling deeper under the blanket.

# # # # #

He woke with a start, for a split second the room reeling around him and with the nauseating sensation that he was falling. He slammed both feet firmly to the floor and grabbed the arms of the chair as he caught his balance.

A soft chuckle reached his ears and he looked up into Mike's grinning face.

"You having that dream about falling off a cliff again?"

"Ha ha," Steve said dryly, prying his hands off the chair, shaking his head and coughing lightly, trying to wake himself up. "How long have _you_ been awake?"

"A coupla hours. I've just been lying here."

"You should've woken me."

Mike's smile widened. "You looked like you needed the sleep." He had managed to alert the nurses when they'd entered earlier to keep the noise down so Steve could continue to sleep; they were more than eager to accommodate the lieutenant's request when they set eyes on his handsome young partner.

Steve chuckled as he started to get up, catching his breath and wrapping his arm around his chest as he pushed himself to his feet. Mike's smile disappeared. "Hey, are you still in pain?"

Steve tried to smile the concern away, shaking his head, but his knitted brows told his partner otherwise. Mike sat up, pushing the heavy grey blanket away. "Buddy boy...?"

"I'm okay," Steve said quickly, raising a calming hand and stepping closer to the bed, "just stiff from sitting in that thing all night," he gestured with his head towards the chair. Mike was staring him up and down worriedly; it was a look he'd seen many times before. "How are _you_ feeling?"

"Don't change the subject," Mike said gruffly, "you're not okay and I want you to see a doctor."

"I already saw a doctor a couple of days ago; they taped me up."

"Then why is it taking so long for you to start healing? You weren't this sore when we were on that… that hovercraft thing," he gestured ineffectually as he tried to find the right word, "yesterday."

Steve's eyebrows had risen slowly. "Then _you_ spend a night in that chair," he nodded once more towards the offending piece of furniture, "and see if _you_ get up without feeling stiff and sore."

They stared at each other for several long beats, Mike frowning and Steve smiling, then the younger man bent over and picked up an overnight bag, dropping it on the end of the bed. "Clothes," he said flatly, pointing at the bag, "and a few toiletries."

Mike glanced at the bag then back at the younger man. "You went to my place?"

"Unh-humh." Steve nodded.

"Thanks," Mike said simply as he reached for the bag, dragging it closer and opening the zipper. He smiled to himself; _that's_ where he must have gone when he left last night, he thought. He began to pull out a blue-checked shirt and khaki pants, sneakers, socks, and underwear, and a Giants baseball cap and jacket. "Where's my electric razor?"

"What do you need your razor for?"

Mike looked at him from under a lowered brow. "What do you think I need - ?" He stopped himself abruptly and pointed at the younger man, his eyebrows snapping up. "You shaved! I thought there was something different about you but I couldn't figure it out."

Steve grinned and nodded, running a hand over the very short overnight stubble starting to appear on his chin.

"When did you do that?"

"Oh, ah…" Steve had forgotten about that little detail and suddenly had to come up with a logical explanation, "ah, when you were asleep late yesterday afternoon I, ah, I went out to grab a bite to eat and decided to pop into a barbershop just down street and… get rid of it." He shrugged noncommittally.

"Good," Mike said with a nod, "I'm glad. I like you better this way." He ran a hand over his own three-day stubble as he rooted around in the overnight bag again, getting out the toiletry bag and opening it, looking in. "Well, at least I can brush my teeth."

"Look, ah, why don't you start getting dressed and I'll tell the staff that you're chomping at the bit to get out of here."

Mike looked up and chuckled. "It's that obvious, is it?"

# # # # #

Mike suffered through the indignity of the wheelchair ride to the front door, the overnight bag and folded Coast Guard blanket on his lap. Steve had gone on ahead to get the car and was waiting for him just outside the hospital's front entrance.

Mike looked the blue LTD up and down as he opened the back door and tossed the bag and blanket on the back seat. "Why have you got this one?" he asked as he got in and slammed the door.

"Well, we're not exactly on duty, remember? I think Norm's using ours." Steve said as he shifted into Drive and stepped on the gas. From the corner of his eye he could see Mike staring at him but he had no idea why. He was sure he would find out soon enough.

He wound the car through the hospital grounds and out onto 22nd, turning left onto Potrero Avenue. Mike turned to him. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home," Steve said, knowing that Mike actually lived close enough to the hospital that he could have walked.

"What for?"

Snapping on the turn signal, preparing to make the left turn onto 23rd and under the Bayshore Freeway into the Potrero Hill neighbourhood, Steve chuckled. "You just got out of the hospital; where else would I take you?"

"To the office," Mike said simply and the younger man looked at him, brow furrowing. "Steve, I just spend the better part of an entire day sleeping. The last thing I need to do right now is go home and lie down."

"But Mike –"

"I'm fine," the older man growled emphatically, "I want to go to the office. I'm sure there's a lot of work still to do, and I want to know what everybody found out yesterday and overnight."

When the younger man remained silent, Mike eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked pointedly, watching the young man very carefully for a tell. They knew each other too well, and when Steve's right hand tightened briefly on the steering wheel, Mike knew he had him.

"Pull over," Mike ordered quietly and Steve's head snapped around to look at him.

"Pull over," he said again, a little more emphatically, and the large dark blue LTD swung into the first empty space on 23rd near Rhode Island.

Steve shifted into Park then turned to look at his partner across the front seat, not sure exactly how much, if anything, Mike had figured out or if he was just going on a fishing expedition. He assumed the latter.

Mike gestured towards him with his chin. "How did _that_ happen?"

"What?"

"The bruises and that small cut on the knuckles of your right hand. You didn't have that yesterday. What, you got into a tussle with the barber?" Mike smiled facetiously and Steve knew he'd been caught out. "You weren't in the hospital room all night, were you? And you didn't just sneak out for awhile to get some dinner and a shave, and drop by my house, did you?" Mike allowed the silence to settle over the car before he spoke again. "Where did you go?"

Steve cleared his throat, not sure just how much to tell his partner right now. It was a fine line he would be walking here; Mike wasn't just his partner and closest friend, he was also his superior officer.

He turned the car off.

"They, ah… Gary and Kyle decided to raid Coopers and the bodega next door yesterday, just after they opened."

"You weren't in on it, were you? Not all busted up like you are. Please tell me you weren't."

The older man's concern was genuine and a grateful warmth washed over him. Steve looked down and cleared his throat again. "Not officially. They, ah, they let me sit in a car a few blocks away."

"This car," Mike said flatly, continuing to stare at the younger man who fidgeted under the scrutinizing blue eyes.

"Yeah, this car."

Steve was usually not so reluctant to confide in him. Mike turned to look out the front window with a loud sigh. They sat in silence for several seconds then he turned back to the younger man.

"Listen, ah, I don't know about you but I'm pretty hungry. I'd like a cup of really good coffee and a couple of eggs sunny side up. What d'ya say?"

Steve looked at him but didn't say anything.

Mike pointed through the windshield. "There's a really good mom-and-pop place over in Dogpatch. What say I treat us to a good breakfast this morning?"

The younger man continued to stare at him silently and Mike waited, a warm, understanding smile curling his lips. Without a word, Steve faced the wheel again and turned the key.

As the engine roared to life, Mike chuckled, patting his jacket and pants pockets. "Hey, ah, buddy boy, you may have to spot me this morning. I don't seem to have my wallet with me."


	25. Chapter 25

Nodding happily, the waitress tucked her order pad into the pocket of her apron and picked up the two plasticized menus. "Be right back with your coffees."

As she walked away, Mike leaned back in the booth, his hands in his lap and his eyes on the young man opposite him who was staring at the table, setting out the cutlery and lining up the salt and pepper shakers.

Clearing his throat with an obviousness that couldn't be ignored, the older man leaned forward and put both forearms on the table. Steve glanced up, regretting it the second he did so. The blue eyes pinned him to the seat.

"So how long is this gonna take, do you think?" Mike asked innocently and the younger man frowned in confusion. "For me to get the full story out of you…"

With a resigned sigh, Steve sat back, flopping hard against the seat, wincing slightly. He met the blue eyes with an annoyed glare.

Mike waited, an almost benevolent smile curling his lips. He shifted again, his eyes briefly leaving his partner to glance at the ceiling. "So, am I to take it from your silence that what happened yesterday, and possibly last night, was… how shall I phrase this…? Not exactly by the book?"

Steve bit his upper lip, moving the knife and fork slightly and rearranging the napkin. He inhaled deeply and looked up with a slight shake of his head and a chuckle. He stared at his partner for a few long seconds then leaned over the table. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Well," Mike began genially, "I know about you going to the hospital with me, so how about after that. I know I fell asleep pretty quickly."

"Yes, you did," Steve confirmed with an affectionate snort, then he leaned back. "Bobby showed up," he said quietly, "about, I don't know, 11, maybe closer to 12. He told me they were going to raid Coopers and the bodega around 1, after the bar opened and they were sure everyone was on the premises."

"And he invited you along, did he?"

"Yes, he did… and I went." He looked away. "I, ah, I didn't want both of us on the sidelines when it went down… after all, it was our investigation to begin with, right?" He looked up and met his partner's eyes evenly.

Mike swallowed heavily, suddenly, almost overwhelmingly, grateful and he blinked quickly. "Right. So, ah, so what happened?"

"Well, we waited in the car a few blocks away till we got the word. Bobby and Cole left and I was alone… I had no idea what was going on so I got out of the car and wandered down towards Coopers, to see if I could see what was happening. And that's when I spotted Danny…"

Mike sat back slightly, frowning. "What, he wasn't in the bar?"

"No, he wasn't. He showed up in this incredible cherry red Mustang –"

"Which no doubt caught your attention first?" Mike interjected with a smile.

"Ah, yes, yes it did," he agreed with a low chuckle, shaking his head.

The waitress appeared with their coffees and they sat back to allow her to place them on the table with the small white milk creamer and bowl of sugar packets. They nodded their thanks as she stepped away and Mike's eyes returned to those of his partner. He leaned forward to pour some milk into his cup, stirring slowly.

"So Danny wasn't in the bar?"

"No, he wasn't," Steve confirmed as he picked up the creamer and poured some milk into his own cup. "He got to the corner of Howard and he seemed to know immediately that something was amiss 'cause he got back to his car as soon as he could and got the hell outa there."

"And you followed him," Mike said evenly, cradling his coffee cup in both hands, continuing to stare at the younger man.

"Yeah," Steve said breathlessly, taking a sip of his coffee and avoiding the unsettling gaze.

"Where did he go?"

"Well," Steve breathed, putting the cup back on the saucer, "he didn't run far, that's for sure. He went to a small apartment building over on Palm."

"Did he meet anybody?"

"Not that I saw. But I was kinda stuck, I didn't see what building he went into, and I kinda figured he'd recognize me after what happened at Coopers –"

"So that's when you got the shave…?"

Steve had stopped abruptly when Mike interrupted him and now he looked at his partner with a wry smile. He nodded. "Yeah… yeah, that's when I got the shave…"

Mike smiled with a nod. "Good idea. You were firing on all cylinders, buddy boy, I like that."

"Thank you," Steve retorted with a small smile and a chuckle, shaking his head. Mike mirrored the look.

"So what did you do next?" the older man prompted.

"Well, I couldn't figure out what building he went into so I ran his plates."

"Good thinking," Mike chuckled again with a wider grin. "I like your style. You musta had a good teacher."

Steve smirked, bobbing his head from side to side. "He was okay…" he said noncommittally and Mike raised his right hand as if to smack him. They both chuckled.

"So what did that get you?"

"Well, I found out what building he was in but I couldn't get close, too much foot traffic, if you know what I mean?"

Mike snorted mirthlessly. "Oh yeah, only too well. So what did you do?"

"Well, it didn't take him long to take off, and following that red Mustang was like following a school bus – you couldn't miss it. He went over the bridge –"

"To Sausilito?" Mike interrupted, his brow furrowing.

Steve nodded. "Yep, that's exactly where he went. Right to the pier."

"Sonofabitch," Mike said under his breath, looking down at the table.

The waitress appeared once more with two large plates, which she set down in front of them, extolling them to enjoy their breakfast. Conversation subsided as they set about preparing their meal, placing napkins in laps, readjusting cutlery. Mike cut a piece of his fried egg and put it in his mouth before asking, "What happened at the pier?'

Steve had stabbed the runny yolk of his own egg and cut off a piece of toast, dipping it in the egg yolk before taking a bite himself. "There was a boat moored at the end of the pier, with the other fishing trawlers," he paused to chew and swallow, "and he got on this red and yellow one. I couldn't see anyone else around." He paused and speared another piece of yolk-laden toast, popping it in his mouth and chewing slowly.

Mike could sense a reluctance on the younger man's part to continue the narrative and he paused in his own breakfast consumption. Gesturing with his fork, he asked genially, "And…?"

Steve inhaled heavily, avoiding the penetrating blue eyes, his shoulders slumping. "And that's when Bobby and Cole Harrison caught up with me."

Mike sat back suddenly, smiling broadly and chuckling. "Really?" he asked lightly, trying to keep the laughter from his voice. "What, they were tailing Danny too? You got in the way?"

With a perturbed sigh, Steve stared at the older man, looking peeved and embarrassed that Mike could have figured things out so quickly. "As a matter of fact -"

"As a matter of fact, they were onto you the entire time, weren't they?" Mike chuckled as he looked back at his plate and scooped up another forkful of egg.

The younger man took a deep breath as his own eyes returned to the plate in front of him and he cut off another piece of toast. He took the time to dip it in the egg yolk, chew and swallow then take a sip of coffee before he continued. Mike waited patiently, working his way through his breakfast with a slight smile pasted on his face. He seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of pleasure from all this.

"So, ah, so what happened next," the senior officer asked with a wave of his fork.

Steve stopped chewing and looked up. "You mean you don't know? I thought you had it all figured out by now."

Mike slumped, cocking his head, and the blue eyes turned cold and annoyed. Chuckling, the younger man forked another piece of toast. "Well, we waited in the car. Eventually a Duster showed up, this guy got out and joined Danny on the trawler."

"You recognize him from the bar?"

Steve shook his head. "Nope. Anyway, Bobby and Cole decided it would be a good time to break up their little party before they decided to pull up anchor, or whatever the hell they do, and sail out of town."

"Didn't they _?"

"Alert the Coast Guard?" Steve finished. "Of course they did. Williams and his gang were standing by in case they were needed. Turns out they weren't."

Steve turned his attention back to his breakfast; Mike stared at the top of his head, annoyed. After a couple of tense seconds, the older man almost yelled, "Well, what happened?"

Chuckling quietly, Steve looked up, all innocence; he knew Mike had only so much patience and it was rapidly running out. But when he sat back, the smile disappeared from his face and he put the fork down. He watched as Mike's artificial impatience faded away in response and they both knew that any vestiges of frivolity were now well and truly gone.

"What happened?" Mike repeated quietly.

Steve sighed heavily. "Bobby and Cole made their way towards the boat. They were almost there when this black car charged into the wharf and this big guy got out. I couldn't see his face, he was all dressed in black. But I could see this huge piece he had in his hand – had to have been a .44. He started towards the boat…. I could see him screw a silencer onto it…. I had to do something, Mike," he said quietly, meeting his partners more very concerned eyes.

"He didn't know I was there," Steve continued quietly, "but he heard me coming. I had to get to him before he got to the boat or else… I managed to duck in between two vehicles and roll under a truck… He didn't see where I went and I got the drop on him when he looked under the van beside where I was… I, ah, I managed to shoot him in the leg…"

Mike watched silently as the young man struggled to find the words to describe his actions.

"There, ah, there was gunfire from the boat… I knew Bobby and Cole were in trouble, and I had to get this guy restrained before I could help them…" Steve's voice trailed off and he looked up at his partner from under a lowered brow. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "I, ah, I hit him with my gun to knock him out so I could tie him up…" he finished softly.

A silence lengthened between them, then Steve heard Mike say quietly, "There was nothing else you could do, buddy boy."

Steve closed his eyes briefly, grateful for the understanding and support, then looked at Mike again. "Cole Harrison was hit in the stomach." He watched as Mike's head snapped back and he gasped lightly. "He's gonna be okay, they got him to the General in time, but it looked pretty bad. They, ah, he and Bobby, they told me to get out of there, after I called it in, they told me to make myself scarce… that I wasn't supposed to be there in the first place…"

Neither man moved or spoke for several long seconds then Mike said gently, "They were right, you know?"

Steve nodded, still looking down. "I know," he breathed.

He waited for the reprimand, but it didn't come. Instead Mike said, "How did that happen?" and he looked up to see the older man gesturing with his chin towards his right hand. Steve raised his hand and flexed his fingers, making a loose fist. He smiled self-consciously.

"Ah, Bobby, ah, Bobby gave me a minute or two with Danny."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Mike asked facetiously with a dry chuckle.

Clearing his throat and trying not to smile, Steve continued, "Yeah, ah, I got the chance to let him know who I really was… and who you really were… and then I got to show him just how much we both appreciated what he did… to you…" He looked up into his partner's bright eyes; Mike swallowed heavily, suddenly unable to smile.


	26. Chapter 26

**Many thanks to everyone who is sticking with this story - hope I am not disappointing you!**

Steve put $15 on top of the bill on the table, closed his wallet and put it in the back pocket of his jeans as he got to his feet. Mike was already up, putting on the Giants jacket. As they exited the small diner and crossed the sidewalk towards the car, the younger man fished the keys out of his jacket.

They got in wordlessly. Steve started the car then turned to his companion. 'Look, ah, we're not that far from your place. Why don't we swing by there and you can get changed and shaved before we head over to Bryant?"

Mike stared at him, his brow furrowing in amusement. He glanced down at himself, "What, you don't think I'm dressed for the office?" He chuckled. "I think that's a great idea."

The blue LTD pulled smoothly away from the curb.

# # # # #

Steve shot his sleeve and glanced at his watch. It had been fifteen minutes since Mike had urged him to stay in the car, saying he wouldn't be long, and jogged up the stairs. He hadn't taken them two at a time like he usually did, but there was vigor in his step that was encouraging.

He still didn't know what Mike thought of the events at the Sausalito wharf. After his confession about Danny and the showing of his 'appreciation', the older man had clammed up and they had finished their breakfast in silence.

He looked up at the old house once more; there was still no sign of his partner and he sat back again, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He knew he was, potentially, in deep trouble, especially with regards to the shooting and incapacitation of the man in black, but he didn't know how far up the food chain he would be handed before the punishment would be meted out.

He heard a door slam and looked up to see a now shaved, suited and fedora'd Mike Stone locking the front door then turn to jog down the stairs, his topcoat over his arm.

"There, that didn't take too long, did it?" the older man said with a chuckle as he opened the passenger door and got in, tossing the topcoat into the back seat.

"No time at all," Steve chuckled, turning on the car and shifting into Drive, heading towards Bryant Street and god knew what else.

# # # # #

"Hey, Mike, great to see you," Norm called from his desk, his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone in his hand.

"Thanks, Norm," Mike nodded with a grin as he crossed to his office, fielding other salutations as he hung the topcoat and fedora on the rack and crossed around to his chair, pulling out the top drawer and putting his .38 inside. Steve had stopped at his own desk, dropped his leather jacket on the back of the chair and began going through the messages stacked under his phone.

Mike pulled his chair out and sat, starting to rifle through the messages on his own desk. There were a lot from Captain Olsen and he picked up the receiver and dialed. While he waited for the line to be answered, he pulled his tie loose and undid the collar button. "Yeah, Rudy, it's Mike - …. Yeah, yeah, I'm okay -… Yes, I was released, I just didn't walk - …" He sighed heavily and looked up to see his partner looking at him from the bullpen with a smirk and a chuckle. He rolled his eyes.

Steve picked up his own phone and dialed. The call was answered almost immediately. "Bobby, it's Steve. I didn't think you'd be in."

" _Yeah, just catching up on some paperwork. Are you in?"_

"Yeah, ah, I brought Mike. What's going on? How's Cole?"

Steve heard a relieved sigh. _"He's gonna be fine. His family's with him so I kinda felt like a fifth wheel, but I'm gonna go in and see him tonight."_

"That's great. If I'm free, I'll come with you. Listen, ah, what's happening with Danny and the bunch that were arrested at Coopers and the bodega?"

" _Kyle and Gary are looking after all that. The rest of us have been…released, I guess you'd call it. They're gonna handle it from here on out and let the rest of us get back on the streets."_

"Oh, ah, okay…" Steve tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he glanced towards the inner office; Mike was still on the phone.

" _So, ah…"_ Cox began slowly and Steve could hear the apprehension in his voice, _"so did you tell Mike what went down over in Sausalito?"_

Steve took a deep breath and blew it out. "Ah, yeah, he kinda figured most of it out on his own, don't ask me how…"

" _So… what's he gonna do?"_

"I have no idea, he hasn't said a word."

" _Is that a good or a bad thing?"_

"I have no conception. I usually have some idea which way he's leaning on a particular subject, but he's impossible to read on this one…. I just don't know."

" _You actually think he might rat you out to the brass?"_

"Bobby, I don't think Mike considers it ratting when a subordinate steps over the line as much as I did. He's relatively flexible about a lot of things but, by and large, he's a pretty by-the-book cop."

" _And you seriously think he'd hang you out to dry?"_

Steve stayed silent for several long seconds, glancing into the inner office once more. He leaned forward, propped his left elbow on the desk and rested his forehead against his hand. "I just don't know, Bobby, I just don't know."

# # # # #

"Okay, Gary, yeah, Steve 'n I'll be right down." Mike hung up and stood. "Steve," he called out as he took his gun from the drawer and snapped it on his belt, "we gotta get down to Vice." He picked his suit jacket up from the back of the chair.

Steve got up, stuffing the unreturned messages under his phone, then fell into step behind his partner as they started towards the door.

# # # # #

"Good to see you, Mike," Newman said with a grin, his right hand out as the two Homicide detectives walked into the Vice office.

Mike shook his hand, laughing. "See, I told you I'd be back." He wagged his left forefinger at Newman then shook hands with Kyle Jenkins as well, adding a wink.

"How are you feeling?" Jenkins asked, chuckling.

"I'm fine," Mike said quickly and dismissively. "Enough about me, all right? So, what's going on here? How many people do you have in custody?"

Smiling and shaking his head, Newman opened a file on a nearby desk and took out a stack of photos. "Nine," he said, picking up the mug shots and spreading them out on the desk. "Six from the bar, including Danny," he explained with a pointed but enigmatic look in Steve's direction, which made the younger man uncomfortable, "two from the bodega and one from the Sausalito pier."

"Any you recognize?" Jenkins asked Mike. "Aside from Danny, of course."

Mike fished his reading glasses out of his inside jacket pocket and put them on, leaning over the desk to study the photos. "Yeah," he said slowly, pointing at two photos of rather large, thick-necked men, "yeah, these two are the bouncers, aren't they?" He glanced up at Newman and the Vice lieutenant nodded. "Yeah, they were the two that helped break up that little fracas that Steve got into." He glanced at his partner who was standing beside him, looking at the photos as well.

Steve was nodding. "Yeah, that's them all right. They were a part of the Shanghai gang?"

Jenkins nodded with a facial shrug. "Well, nobody's talking yet but we think so, yeah."

"She's involved?" Mike asked, pointing at a picture of a young dark-haired woman whom he recognized as one of the waitresses.

"Yeah," Newman said slowly, "from what we speculate, she and Danny were the ones doing the 'scouting', I guess you could call it. Finding vulnerable men that they could go after. We're assuming she worked the booths and the tables and Danny handled the bar."

Mike shook his head slowly as he straightened up, taking off his glasses and putting them back in his pocket. "Who are the others?"

"Well, there's two from the bar," Jenkins pointed at two more men neither Homicide detectives recognized, "that we haven't identified yet – nobody was carrying I.D. and we're not sure yet if that was deliberate or accidental. We're leaning more towards the deliberate side of the argument. And we've had no luck yet with fingerprints, but we're still waiting for the FBI and Interpol."

"These two," Newman took up the narrative, pointing to another couple of mug shots, "rented the bodega next door. It was a front, of course, but believe it or not, they were making a pretty good living, from what we can tell, just being a store." He chuckled.

"You said something yesterday about a room under the store, like a cold storage…?" Steve asked, glancing briefly at his partner.

"Yeah," Newman continued the briefing, "in the basement of the bar there's a door that they've got pretty well hidden behind a stack of beer cases and kegs and it leads into the basement of the bodega, into their storage area. But, also well concealed down there, is this room…" He cleared his throat briefly and glanced at Mike almost guiltily. The Homicide lieutenant met his eyes patiently, acknowledging and appreciating the concern.

Newman exhaled loudly. "There's a large room down there filled with hooks hanging from the ceiling, like meat hooks, and rings bolted into the wall. That's where they would keep their abductees before they… well, before they got enough together to make it worth their while."

Mike felt Jenkins hand on his shoulder. "Luckily you were only in there for a day, Mike, but still… Some of the ones we talked to were there almost a week, we think." He cleared his throat. "The guy that died was there for six days, we're pretty sure about that."

Mike nodded slowly, his gaze far away. He took a deep breath then asked quietly, "What did he die of?"

"The, ah, the coroner's only done a preliminary right now, he's waiting for the tox results, but it looks like a combination of drug overdose and hypothermia. But the guy also had some signs of heart disease so that could've played a hand in it too."

"It's still murder," Mike said softly, and they all nodded.

All four of them stared at the photos on the desk for several long silent seconds. It was Mike who broke the spell. "So, ah, so what's next?"

"Well," Newman began slowly, "we have to interrogate everybody, of course, and find out what they know and how high this goes. The feeling we're getting," he glanced at Jenkins and the other man nodded, "is this isn't the entire team, and definitely not the brains behind the operation. I mean, Danny Donaldson is not a dummy but the rest of these guys… there's no way they came up with this."

"That makes sense," Mike agreed, beginning to turn towards his partner, then he stopped abruptly, pointing at the ninth picture on the desk, a DMV photo, not a mug shot. "Who's this guy?"

"He's dead; he's the guy that put the bullet in Harrison on the boat in Sausalito last night when they caught Danny trying to run. Cox took him out."

Steve fidgeted slightly and Mike, sensing the unease, asked quickly, "Do you know who he is?"

"Not yet. Like I said, nobody's really talking yet, but we'll find out. He's one of the ones we're waiting on fingerprints for."

Steve cleared his throat slightly before asking. "What about the third guy on the pier last night? The guy in the black sedan?"

Newman and Jenkins both turned slowly to face the Homicide inspector. "How did you know there was a man in a black sedan on the pier last night?"


	27. Chapter 27

Steve swallowed, clearing his throat again with a quick cough and glancing at Mike before he spoke. "Oh, I, ah, I just heard about him from Bobby Cox; I was talking to him just before we came down here. I wanted to know how Cole Harrison was doing."

Both Newman and Jenkins stared at the inspector for a few long beats before Newman shifted slightly, looking back at the mug shot on the desk. "Yeah, ah, he showed up on the pier last night, we're assuming to take out Donaldson and the other guy on the boat. He had this big-ass .44 with a silencer." He paused for a split second and glanced up at Steve before continuing. "It was a good thing Bobby got the drop on him or this all could've turned out a hell of a lot worse than it did."

Steve nodded, keeping his gaze on the desk, ostensibly looking at the photos but trying not to meet the intense blue eyes that were burning a hole in the side of his head.

"So, ah, Mike," Jenkins said a little louder then necessary, causing both Homicide detectives to start slightly, "we know this is a murder investigation now, but you can't be involved anymore as you're a witness… and a victim," he added softly, "and Steve…" He turned to the younger man, his brow still furrowed. "You're gonna need to take a couple of days off and let your ribs heal, and that's not me or Gary talking, that's from your own captain."

"I know you'd like to have your own guys on this, Mike," Newman took over, looking at his Homicide counterpart, "but Kyle and I know more about this case than anybody else right now, even you two, so we'd like to keep going with it. But we wanted to run it by you first and get your approval. You're the man on this, it's your case, and we'll do whatever you want us to do." Newman finished with a curt nod then he and Jenkins waited patiently.

Mike, who knew he was being shown the utmost professional courtesy and respect, glanced at Steve, whose expression remained neutral, then looked down. He took a deep breath and raised his head. "You're right, it's your case now. Steve and I are your witnesses, and we'll back off. You guys do what you have to do, and if you want to use any of my men, then you do it with my blessing."

Both Vice lieutenants visibly relaxed, and Newman's tense face exploded in a broad grin. He held out his right hand as he exhaled loudly. "Thanks, Mike, seriously…. thank you. I know you and Steve did all the groundwork on this baby and I hate like hell to take it away –"

"You're not taking it away from us," Mike interrupted, shaking his head and Newman's hand. "Please don't think of it like that. We both knew going in that if we used ourselves as bait, chances are we'd no longer be just investigating this gang but we'd become victims or witnesses… and, I guess, we both did, in different ways."

"Yeah," Jenkins chuckled, glancing from one partner to the other, "just by looking at you two right now, I'd've said Steve was the one that'd been kidnapped. You look fine," he said to Mike with a grin and a chuckle.

Mike smiled smugly and looked at Steve, who laughed, dropping and shaking his head. With a short, sharp laugh, Mike said to Newman, "So, what do you need from us right now, Gary?"

Newman's smile disappeared quite suddenly and he glanced at Steve. "Listen, ah, Mike, could I have a word with you… in private?" he asked, gesturing with his head to his office across the room.

Mike hesitated for a split second, his eyes snapping from Steve to Jenkins then back to Newman. "Sure… sure, Gary, no problem."

As the Vice lieutenant started away, Mike fell into step behind him then turned back to his partner. "Steve, ah, I think I'm gonna hang around here for the rest of the day. I want you to get yourself home and take it easy for a couple of days, let those ribs heal, okay?"

Steve frowned. "Mike, I –"

"If Olsen told these guys that you need to take a couple of days off, you need to take a couple of days off. Do I make myself clear?" The stern blue eyes bored into his own and there was no room for misinterpretation. Mike rarely gave him orders; that just wasn't his style. This was as close to an order as he had heard in months, if not years.

Still staring into his partner's eyes, Steve nodded curtly. "Yes, sir," he said quietly and watched Mike flinch. Then the older man turned on his heel and followed Newman to his office.

Jenkins watched the young inspector silently from under a lowered brow. Steve glanced at him then took a deep breath. "Well, I guess I have my marching orders, don't I?" he said lightly, trying to find a smile.

Jenkins smiled wanly, nodding slightly and tilting his head. "We'll, ah, we'll get in touch with you if we need something, don't worry about that," he said sympathetically, "but you really need to get out of here for awhile, all right? Do what Mike says… go home, get better and then get back to work, okay?"

Steve looked from Jenkins across the room to where Mike and Newman were sitting, deep in conversation, in the Vice lieutenants office. He sighed heavily, nodded at Jenkins and slowly left the office.

# # # # #

"So we know he was there last night… it, ah, it wasn't too hard to figure out, once we knew the LTD was gone and he was the only one who'd stayed behind with it."

Mike was staring at the floor, his face expressionless as Newman filled him in on the events of the previous night on the pier in Sausalito.

"Cox tried to cover for him…" Newman started to chuckle slightly, "and he did a hell of a job of it. I think he covered all the… broad strokes, shall we say, but when we get Bobby in here and really grill him…. Just to let you know, we're cutting him some slack right now because of Cole but by tomorrow… well, there're just too many loose ends that we don't have answers to and I don't think Bobby's gonna be able to tie them up for us. At least not truthfully."

Mike brought his right hand to his mouth and pulled on his lower lip, his gaze unfocused.

"We'd warned him, Mike… we told Steve he couldn't be in on the raids or the arrests and he promised he wouldn't. We had authorization from the Sausalito PD for Bobby and Cole to be over there and make arrests if it came to that, but only them. We got SPD to stay away so nobody's hand was tipped, and they were good with that.

"We, ah, we were expecting Bobby and Cole to arrest Danny. We weren't expecting the guy in the Duster to show up. And nobody was expecting that third guy, the guy in the black sedan."

Newman took a deep breath and sagged where he sat on the edge of his desk. "I'm not ratting him out to you, Mike, but I think you should know what when on last night. What he did was so…" he paused and swallowed heavily, "he stepped so far over the line… but if he wasn't there, if he hadn't disobeyed every order we gave him, Cole and Bobby would be dead, I've no doubt about that."

The Vice lieutenant watched as Mike continued to stare at the floor, breathing and blinking slowly, taking in his every word.

"We haven't talked to Olsen about it yet, but we'll have to, you know that, right? I wanted you to know first… I want you to know what Kyle and I know… it's the least we can do… This could get very, very dicey for Steve – hell, for all of us… We just wanted you to know…"

An uncomfortable silence filled the room for several long seconds then Mike looked up slowly; his smile was sadly melancholic. He started to get up. "Thanks, Gary," he said quietly, not meeting the other man's eyes.

"So, ah, so do you want us to take this to Olsen or do you want to do it yourself?" Newman asked gently, getting to his feet as well.

Mike shook his head slowly. "No, ah, thanks, I'll do it. He's _my_ partner, right?" He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head with a facial shrug then held out his right hand. "Thanks for being honest with me, Gary. I appreciate it."

"No problem, Mike." He shook hands then managed a smile. "It's great to see you're okay."

The Homicide lieutenant managed a genuine smile. "Thanks. It really wasn't as bad as it seemed, at least for me anyway." He opened the inner office door and Newman watched as he walked, slowly and wearily, through the Vice bullpen and out into the corridor.

# # # # #

Mike stepped out of the elevator and turned left, walking with a reluctant deliberation towards his destination. He rounded a corner and approached the door he was looking for, stopping to wait for several seconds before he raised his right hand and knocked.

"Come in," a deep voice barked; Mike opened the door and took a step inside. "Mike, jeez, I wasn't expecting to see you!" Rudy Olsen exclaimed in surprise as the Homicide detective closed the door and approached the desk. They shook hands. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Mike said curtly, sitting in one of the guest chairs when the captain released his hand. "That's, ah, that's not why I'm here. Listen, Rudy, you got some time to talk?"

Olsen's brow furrowed; the usually effusive lieutenant seemed unnaturally troubled. "Sure, sure," he said easily as he sat, leaning forward over his desk. "What is it, Mike?"

His old friend swallowed heavily before smiling grimly. "It's about Steve…"

# # # # #

He opened the front door, wincing slightly as he stepped over the threshold with the large paper bag of groceries cradled in his left arm. Kicking the door shut with his foot, he tossed the keys on a nearby table and continued into the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter.

As he crossed back to the front closet to hang up the leather jacket, he glanced at the answering machine. The Calls Indicator light was flashing _2._ He pressed the Playback button.

" _Hi, Steve, it's Linda. I was free tonight and I was hoping you might be too. Maybe we could catch a movie or maybe just have a drink? Anyway call me if you're free… If not, I have the weekend off… See ya."_

There was a loud series of clicks as the tape snapped to the next message.

" _Inspector Keller, this is Alice from Captain Olsen's office. The captain would like to see you in his office tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. Have a good evening."_

The tape rewound and shut itself off. Steve stood looking at the machine, his heart suddenly sinking into the pit of his stomach. His footsteps were heavy as he made his way slowly back into the kitchen, putting the groceries away by rote. Finished, he glanced at the clock on the stove: 3:40.

With a worried sigh, he took out a cold bottle of beer, opening it with the church key hanging by a string beside the fridge and trudged into the living room, flopping heavily onto the couch and putting his feet on the coffee table.

As he took his first long draft, he thought back over the past few days. He couldn't believe that everything he had worked for, everything he had achieved and, above all, his unique partnership with Mike, could be in jeopardy.

He looked at his watch again. It was going to be a long evening and an even longer night.

# # # # #

Steve stepped out of the elevator and made a left turn. Shaved, showered and wearing his best jacket and favourite tie, he walked slowly toward the corner and turned. There was a fair amount of foot traffic on the third floor at this hour, and he nodded at several colleagues as he made his way to the office about halfway down the corridor. _Captain R. Olsen_ said the brass plaque on the door.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his cuffs, made sure his tie was straight, and knocked.


	28. Chapter 28

**Thanks, everyone, for coming along on the ride; hope you enjoyed it!**

"Come in," he heard a voice call through the door and Steve hesitated a split second before turning the knob and stepping into Captain Olsen's office. There was nobody behind the desk; in fact, the only occupant of the room was his partner, who was sitting with his legs crossed and hands in his lap in the furthest of the two guest chairs.

Steve looked at him with a confused frown as he closed the door. "Where's Rudy?"

"He's not here," Mike said simply and watched as the younger man began to shake his head in a _'well, obviously'_ motion, "and he's not coming."

Steve froze, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean he's not coming? His secretary said he wanted to see me at 10."

"Well, I have a feeling she said something about he'd like to _see_ you in his office but really nothing about him actually being here as well." Mike chuckled slightly, indicating the other chair.

 _Touché,_ Steve thought with the ghost of a wry smile as he took the short steps to the vacant chair and sat.

"Nobody except Rudy and Alice know we're here and nobody's going to disturb us. It's just you and me, buddy boy." Mike was looking at him with a strange mixture of sympathy and regret and his heart sank.

"So what's this all about?"

Mike chuckled again and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I think you know. I _know_ you know."

Steve's head went back slightly and a look of confrontation suddenly appeared. "Now, Mike –"

The older man held up his right hand. "Now before you get on your high horse, let me give you that facts, as I know them," he said calmly, touching his own chest. He took a deep breath before he began. "So even though you weren't physically a hundred percent, you accompanied Bobby Cox and Cole Harrison to the take-down at Coopers. You weren't supposed to be there, or anywhere in that neighborhood for that matter, but I get the feeling that Bobby Cox might have alerted you in some way that it was going down. Mistake number one."

Mike leaned back slightly but the intensity in his voice didn't waver. "While the raids of the bar and the bodega were going down, you got out of the car to… see what was going on, even though you had been specifically told not to. Mistake number two."

With an almost angry quick clearing of his throat, Steve leaned back in the chair and looked away.

"You spotted Danny, arriving in his bright red Mustang," Mike continued, his eyes boring into the younger man, "and, thinking that maybe they'd make an error in timing the raids and were gonna lose him, you decided to follow him on your own, without calling it in, _and_ taking the department's unmarked without permission in the process. Three." He raised three fingers of his right hand and Steve flinched.

"You tailed Danny into another jurisdiction, again without permission, and neglected to notify the locals." He was about to say _'Four'_ but stopped himself when he saw the look of annoyance on his partner's face; he knew it was time to back off… slightly.

"When you were… caught, for lack of a better word, by Cox and Harrison before you stumbled even deeper into the mire, you once again were told to remain in the car and not to interfere, as you had no authority to even be there in the first place. And, once again, you didn't." Quickly raised eyebrows signaled a silent _'Five'._

Steve exhaled loudly and pointedly, looking down and brushing an invisible speck from his pants.

"And then," Mike began again, sitting back and folding his arms, "the really interesting part starts. That entire escapade with 'the man in the black sedan'." He sighed. "I don't even know where to begin with that one but it ended up with you shooting him in the leg and then knocking him out with your gun."

The older man closed his mouth and lowered his head, staring at his partner with an expression that could only be described as profound disappointment. Steve closed his eyes and sighed; more than anything else in his life, he hated being a failure and a screw-up in the mind of this man that he loved and respected so much. "Mike, I – " he began conciliatorily but was abruptly waved quiet.

"I'm not finished," the older man snapped almost angrily, unfolding his arms and leaning forward slightly, and Steve's heart froze. They locked eyes for several silent seconds and then the younger man looked away, unable to hide his shame and guilt.

"Now I've talked with Gary and I've talked with Rudy about all this and we've come to a number of conclusions," Mike continued finally, his voice betraying no indication of what he thought about the dilemma now facing them. "First, what you did, disobeying a direct order at the scene of the raids, tailing a suspect in a departmental car, that wasn't assigned to you, while not officially on duty and crossing jurisdictions, are actions for which you have to be held responsible. We all agree on that."

Mike paused and Steve, looking down and unable to make any kind of eye contact, nodded slowly. He wasn't entirely surprised and he braced for the worst.

"And when it comes to what you did with regards to that 'man in the black sedan', well, we're pretty well in agreement on that as well. What you did, incapacitating him without having to resort to extreme physical force, was not only the result of clear, calm and professional thinking but it also, without a doubt, saved two lives."

The older man paused again and watched as the younger cop's head came up gradually, his brow furrowed, not sure if he was actually hearing correctly. What he'd heard didn't sound much like a reprimand. Mike smiled slightly.

"Gary says, and Rudy and I agree, that if you hadn't been on that pier last night, Bobby and Cole would most likely be dead right now. You seem to have the uncanny ability to turn a wrong – or in this case, several wrongs – into a right, buddy boy. And, as unlikely as it sounds, the department owes you a big debt of gratitude for what went down last night."

Steve stared at his partner, his eyes wide, hearing the words but not quite processing them fully. Eventually his rigid posture began to relax and he almost slumped against the back of the chair. With a studied deliberateness, Mike did the same, the smile lingering.

"You're not off the hook, if that's what you're thinking," the older man said calmly and quietly. "Not by a long shot."

Steve's shoulders sagged and resigned inevitability clouded his eyes. He looked down, running his right hand along his thigh, feeling the cloth from his pants under his palm, trying to slow his pounding heart.

Mike cleared his throat pointedly and shifted slightly in the leather chair. "They've left it to me, if that's what you're wondering. Your… disciplinary action, for want of a better term at the moment… is entirely up to me."

Steve closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. He jumped slightly when he felt the touch of Mike's hand on his knee and opened his eyes to see his boss leaning towards him, a warm smile lighting his face.

"You can relax," the older man said softly. "I'm your partner, remember? I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

The younger man stared at him, too shocked to even move. "But Rudy –"

"I told you they left the punishment up to me," Mike interrupted with a slight chuckle. "And, in my humble opinion, I think you've been beating yourself up enough these past thirty-six hours. I have no intention of piling-on, at least not too hard." He leaned back and smiled. "Besides, if Bobby Cox was willing to take the heat for you, to tie himself in knots trying to come up with a scenario that had him taking down the guys on the boat as well as the 'man in black' in the parking lot, like some kind of Superman… well, to me that says he owes you more than he could ever repay. And I happen to think he's right about that."

Steve continued to stare, stunned and confused. "But you said I wasn't off the hook…?"

"With me," Mike answered simply, losing the smile. "You may be off the hook with the other guys, but not with me. At least not yet. I think you still need to… atone for your flagrant disobedience. You were lucky this time; things turned out for the best. But next time, if there ever _is_ a next time, you may not be so lucky." He watched as his young partner swallowed nervously. "Now I know Rudy said he wanted you to take a couple of days off and let those ribs of yours heal. I think he's right about that, but I don't want you coming back into the office for a week. And three of those days will be without pay."

Mike finished with a pointed stare, waiting for a response. Steve glared back, as if expecting more. When it didn't come, he tilted his head and lightly bit his bottom lip. "That's it?"

With a wry smile, Mike sat back and slowly crossed his arms. "Yeah, that's it," he drew out the three short words, lacing them with a hint of sarcasm. "You want more?"

For the first time since he'd entered the room, Steve chuckled. "No, sir, that's, ah…" He stopped, staring at his partner, and his smile disappeared. "Thank you," he whispered.

With an embarrassed laugh, Mike looked down. "Listen, ah, in case you didn't hear it in all that yammering I was doing…" He raised his head, deep respect and admiration showing so obviously in his eyes. "I'm very proud of you. You really went above and beyond, not just for those guys on the dock but for me as well." He blinked quickly several times and swallowed heavily. "You're a hell of a cop, Steve Keller," he said quietly, his eyes suddenly very bright.

Steve sat perfectly still, feeling his own eyes brimming, staring at this man who had come to mean so much to him. With a hand that had started to tremble, he leaned forward, reaching out to briefly touch the side of Mike's face. Grinning, he said lightly, "I had a hell of a teacher."

As Steve took his hand away, Mike looked down and chuckled. "Well, I don't know about you but I think we need to get out of here, give Rudy his office back." He started to get to his feet and Steve watched him stand.

Mike started towards the door then stopped, turning back. Steve still hadn't moved or taken his eyes from the older man. "What?"

With a warm, enigmatic smile, Steve shook his head as he got up. "Nothing, nothing," he said, putting his hand lightly on the older man's back, ushering him ahead towards the door.

Mike closed the office door and they started down the corridor side by side in silence. After several strides, Steve looked over, raising his hand to pat his partner on the back. They turned the corner and headed for the stairwell that would take them up to Homicide.

# # # # #

Mike opened the front door and stepped wearily across the threshold, closing the door behind him and tossing the keys on a nearby table. He slipped off his shoes and dropped the topcoat and fedora on the couch before heading into the kitchen and snapping on the overhead light.

Pulling his tie even looser, he opened the fridge door and looked in, trying to locate something to eat that didn't require cooking. Finding nothing, he opened the meat keeper drawer and took out a packet of baloney, tossing it onto the counter then taking a loaf of bread from the breadbox.

Within seconds he had a baloney sandwich on a small plate and, with a can of beer, headed up to his bedroom. He put the plate and can on the bedside table and began to change out of his suit.

He thought back over the day, longer than he had anticipated, and the lengthy meeting with Newman and Jenkins that had ended less than a half hour ago. They were still getting no cooperation from any of the suspects they'd arrested, but that was to be expected at this early stage of the investigation.

Even Danny had clammed up, and his silence about Steve Keller's presence at the pier in Sausalito was so far working in their favour. Mike felt sure that by the time the bartender did start talking, that little wrinkle would no longer be an issue.

Newman had mentioned that they had inquiries out to Interpol and other international agencies, and even Scotland Yard was certain they could help; rumour had it the brains behind the Shanghai'ing operation had a British or European connection. It would take months to get to the heart of the criminal enterprise, everyone knew, but at least now police agencies around the world were aware that such an coordinated organization was in operation once again.

Mike was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his slippers, when he looked across the room and stopped moving. With a chuckle, he got up and crossed to the chair, picking up the thick gray Coast Guard blanket he had brought home the day before.

He headed out into the hallway to the linen closet. He was just about to put it on an upper shelf when he stopped, images suddenly flooding back. He remembered being barely conscious, cold and in pain, slowly opening his eyes to see the warm and loving eyes of his partner staring at him worriedly, and in that split second he knew he was safe.

Mike chuckled self-consciously, realizing he was hugging the blanket to his chest, and he reached up to put it on the top shelf, one hand lingering on it before he took a step back and closed the door.

# # # # #

Steve was standing at the stove, sautéing a pan of peppers and onions as he leafed through the current issue of Rolling Stone on the counter beside him. Without taking his eyes from the page, he reached out with his free hand to pick up the glass of white wine and take a sip.

He flipped a page in the magazine and froze, his attention caught by a full-page ad. He stared at the models for a moment, then quickly turned off the stove, dropped the spatula into the pan and hustled from the kitchen, across the living room to the closet near the front door.

His leather jacket was hanging with the other coats and whatnot, and he pulled it out. He reached into the inside breast pocket, releasing a held breath with a relieved chuckle. Moving carefully, he withdrew his hand slowly and stared at the crushed gold-framed glasses.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had no idea why but suddenly the mangled eyewear had become very precious to him, and he knew he would have to find a safe place to keep them, a talisman whose meaning only he would understand.


End file.
